


Dawning in Dust

by DiverseMediums



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiverseMediums/pseuds/DiverseMediums
Summary: The Last War has ended. Civilization is no more. For Claire, solitary wandering is the only way of survival. What if it didn't have to be?





	1. Prologue

The world had ended. 

“Well, if not ended,” Claire supposed, looking upon the deadened landscape with a dispassionate gaze, “it came as close as it could reasonably get.”

Sweat trickled down her neck, tickling its way beneath her shirt collar and down her spine. The feel of it felt like a touch long lost, and she shifted her shoulders to rid herself of it. Her husband gone, the gold wedding band on her hand all that remained to tell of his existence in her life. With a small huff, Claire stood and gathered her pack of belongings, shielding her eyes from the unyielding sun with a hand. 

“Now you’re talking to yourself. Lovely, Beauchamp,” she muttered, turning her eyes this way and that to try and catch her bearings amongst the rolling hills of what was once known as Scotland. Thoughts of the once lush landscapes made her heart squeeze, and not just for the loss of the beauty it had held. Three days hiking in the hills on foot was tiring and hungry work and, as a rule, she preferred edible greenery over insects any day of the week.

What day is it? Claire wondered suddenly. Did anyone still keep track? She didn’t think to ask at the small cabin she’d encountered recently. The man of the house had been wary at first, but allowed her to examine his wife and two daughters who had catarrh. After exchanging medicinals and medical advice for food and shelter, she’d curled up by the hearth and slept in rare warmth all night. 

They may have let her stay longer, but Claire was up and away before the little family woke next morning. She smiled to herself, kicking a small rock and watching it tumble down the hill. Leave it to the Scots to still take strangers in, even at the end of the world. She still liked to think of the countries as they had been before The End, many years before. 

Before the greatest and last World War destroyed whole countries and killed millions. Before technology died, the ozone layer likely permanently depleted, and modern civilization ceased to exist. It was like a small grain of comfort to her. As if mapping the land in her mind brought a sense of fleeting stability to her nomadic and desperate life. Claire smirked at the thought, shrugging her pack on and taking the first step down the hillside. 

If there was one thing anyone could ever say about Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall, it would be that her life was never “normal”.


	2. Part I

Claire awoke abruptly, gasping for air. The sky was still dark and the air around her small hiding place in a niche of the little hill was still and silent. Her skin was cold and clammy and she raised a trembling hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead. No explosions. No screams. No suffocating weight or bone deep chill. The smell of blood was replaced by the smell of dry earth. 

A dream. It had only been a dream. Breathe in. Out. Slower. In…. out…. in…. out. 

She rolled onto her side, curling in on herself under the solar blanket that was her saving grace on cold nights like these. It had slipped off while she slept, which may have explained the nightmare. Claire never could sleep well when chilled, especially after her parents died in that car crash when she was small. It had been a cold night that night too. Almost as cold as her parent’s had been when she said goodbye for the last time before the funeral… 

“Stop it, Beauchamp,” Claire whispered firmly, trying to relax her shaking muscles. She closed her eyes, trying to focus her mind on something to hang on to until she could relax into sleep again. Warm things. Warmth. Frank’s lips against hers… 

Claire flinched involuntarily. No, too painful. Something else. Anything else. Campfires. The sun in Egypt, high and hot as a furnace over one of her Uncle Lamb’s archeological dig sites. Fresh tea. Hot baths. 

Claire almost groaned at the thought. Yes, that would do. She breathed out slowly, imagining how the warmth of the water used to seep into her muscles. The steam would have coated her face like her sweat did now and she breathed in and out again, imagining the scents of candles and soap. There would have been nothing to worry over, no shifts to get to at the hospital, no dinner parties with Frank’s colleagues. Just time and space for her mind and body to go blissfully blank for a bit. Claire vaguely registered that the solar blanket was warming her again before her muddled mind gave in to sleep once more. 

———

Claire Beauchamp Randall was never a woman to panic. Being raised by her eccentric archeologist uncle and therefore being voluntarily toted around the world from a young and impressionable age did much to dispel emotions of this type from entering her mind. Joining the British army and becoming a nurse when the Last World War was declared only solidified her ability to emotionally detach as needed. She was, however, realistic.

She bent at the edge of the stream, wanting nothing more than to drink greedily and damn the consequences. It had been almost two days without water and the mere sound of it lapping against the bank made her swallow. Claire sighed, pacifying her thirst by swishing a handful of water inside her mouth and spitting it out again before gathering small sticks for a fire. She ran her damp fingers through the curly mass of her hair, tying it back and out of her way. 

If her unusual upbringing taught her anything it was that ill prepared food,drink, and medical supplies could kill just as well as a wild animal or person could, albeit much slower and sometimes more painfully. She thought the stream might be safe enough, but couldn’t take the risk. At one point, most water sources around the world had been destroyed or filled with chemicals as a weapon. 

While Claire didn’t think Scotland had fallen prey to those tactics, being so far removed from the centralized sources of conflict, she had to proceed as she would anywhere else. After all, rumors still circulated of continued conflict and uses of force, despite the fallout of technological civilization. Groups of wanderers coming together to make their own new civilization and social structure of sorts. Claire avoided what appeared to be large encampments of people for that very reason. 

The only person or thing she could trust was herself and, for all she felt safe in this quiet forest of trees, Claire allowed herself a rare moment to let that reality sink in. She’d come to terms with her parents’ deaths quite readily, being young and thrust into new worlds unknown. The vague memories she had of them were pleasant ones and she kept them locked safe away in what she pictured as a small, ornamental box in her mind. 

Uncle Lamb had been killed in a bombing raid toward the end of the Last War while he was lecturing at University. At this point, any thought for civilian lives was shot to hell in the attacks on schools, libraries, cinemas, and any other manner of public gathering place. British military had been evacuating mainland Europe when it happened. Claire didn’t find out until she went to Uncle Lamb’s flat and found it dusty and vacant, all belongings looted. He’d died two weeks before. 

Frank. The thought of her husband brought her right hand automatically to her left, fingers caressing the simple gold band on her ring finger. Claire had made it home during the evacuation. Frank had not. They’d had little contact throughout the War, partially due to the need for secrecy and partially due to the breakdown in communication technology after the data viruses were set loose. Uncle Lamb always joked that technology would be the end of man. 

He was right, Claire thought. She bent to her studiously arranged pile of twigs and dry sticks, pulling the flint and small knife out of her cargo pants pocket. She was about to strike the first spark when a shot rang out, echoing through the trees overhead and all but making her heart stop.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she gasped, ducking low and gathering up her pack. Too loud to be a pistol. Not automatic though… Another shot, this one closer and accompanied by yelling from two different directions. The last thing she needed was to get caught in the middle of territory dispute.

Claire ran, keeping as low as she could while trying not to slip down the bank and into the water. She grabbed her canteen to keep it from making noise as it thumped against her side. Another shot, this one even closer….

“Oof!” 

She’d ran smack into a man hiding in the trees. He grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her to keep her from falling. Or perhaps more, as Claire discovered, to keep her from escaping. She thrashed in his arms. 

“Let GO of me you bloody..”

Claire turned, ready to slash at his face, but ceased fighting abruptly. Her first thought was that he was Frank, but that thought vanished as quickly as it took him to shove her to the ground. She felt her palm scrape on a rock of some sort and her pack fell off her shoulder. She sat gaping at him like a landed trout. Seeing him now, she knew it wasn’t Frank. Still, the resemblance…. lean body, brown hair, handsome, and his eyes…

“Who are you?” Claire asked, hoping her voice sounded steady. 

“I might ask you the same question and with considerably more justification,” the man replied, moving to stand menacingly over her.

“Just what do you think..?” Claire began, trying to stand up. The stranger put a hard hand on her shoulder, forcing her back down again.

“I am Captain Jonathan Randall, British Army. And you, madam, will stay put.”

Claire had to repress the urge to stand and salute. Instead, she kicked him hard in the shins and whirled to make another run for it. All the air left her lungs as he tackled her to the ground.

“Oh, like that is it? Well…” Captain Randall turned her over, gasping, onto her back and pinned her arms above her head in a viselike grip. Black dots clouded her vision as he put his face within an inch of hers. “Who are you and what are you..”

Whatever he’d been going to ask got cut short as a figure stepped out from behind the nearest tree and clocked Captain Randall in the back of the head, sending him toppling to the side. Claire gasped for breath, the dark spots overcoming her. The last thing she remembered before she gave into them was looking up and seeing a pair of slanted blue cat-like eyes.


	3. Part II

“Wake up! Wake up damn ye!” an unknown Scottish voice whispered. 

They may as well have shouted it, for Claire twitched at the urgency in the voice. She wished she could wake up, but felt like she was climbing out of a dark fog. Why did her ribs hurt? It felt like her head was going to split open. What…. Frank? No… Randall. Captain Randall. Claire’s eyes flew open. 

"Jesus fucking Christ,” she said to no one in particular. A hand went immediately over her mouth and she yelped. 

"Shh! Are ye mad? Do ye want those bastards to hear us?” 

Claire’s eyes found the owner of the hand. Apparently the owner of those blue, cat-like eyes as well. She was a small woman, with long jet black hair pulled back into a French braid. A scrape marred her cheek, but that wasn’t what brought Claire fully back into the waking world. Her hand was covered in dry blood. 

"Mmph!” Claire uttered, rolling away from the woman. 

"Shh!” the strange woman implored again, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. “Unless ye want to be manhandled by yon Captain again, ye’d best keep quiet, aye?” she hissed. 

Captain Jonathan Randall. Same last name as Frank. Same build. Same features. Was he a distant relation perhaps? Claire swallowed back nausea, hoping for ‘very distant’, and nodded. “The captain. What did you..” 

"Christ, yer English!” 

_Either I have a concussion or she has advanced weapons training_ , Claire thought, as the dark haired lass brought a pistol to bear on her before she could blink. Claire raised her hands in surrender. 

"Easy,” Claire said, in a calm sort of voice she’d use on a deranged patient. “Yes, I am… was… English. Weren’t we all?” 

"Well that depends on who ye ask now, doesn’t it?” the other woman replied primly. “Now what are ye doing here, and why was yon captain havin’ a go at ye?” 

"You know he asked me those same questions,” Claire hissed, trying with all her might to keep her voice down. 

"Aye well. I wilna hurt ye,” she replied, but raised an eyebrow. “I will have an answer from ye though. Canna let ye go otherwise, times bein’ what they are ye ken?” 

Claire sighed, getting more irritated by the moment. Clearly, she just needed to tell the truth so she can get out of here. 

"I was traveling. I needed water so I stopped by the stream to boil some when I heard the shots. I ran for it then encountered that captain. Obviously you saw what happened next,” Claire finished lamely, crossing her arms over her chest and meeting those blue eyes straight on. 

"So yer sayin’ ye dinna ken the good captain then?” the woman asked, dark eyebrow raised. 

"No,” Claire replied shortly, but she could feel the blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. 

"I see. Ye seemed surprised to see him. Even before he pushed ye, I mean.” 

"Well, I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone was I?” Claire retorted, avoiding a real answer. _God, he’d looked so much like Frank…_

"No, I suppose not. Why were ye wanderin’ out here on yer own?” 

The woman’s face was blank and impassive. Rather unnerving, really. Claire sighed again. 

"I’m a nurse. _Was_.. a nurse. I’m alone. I.. tend to people I encounter in return for food and shelter. I typically don’t stay in one place for more than two days. Now, if you’ll take that gun off me, thank you very much, I’ll just be..” 

"You’re a nurse?” the stranger interrupted, and Claire saw the expressionless mask flicker a bit. She also lowered the pistol as well. Claire blinked at this sudden change in atmosphere. 

"Well. Yes. Are you.. hurt? You’ve got blood on your hands.” 

"Oh, this lot isna my blood. Some of it’s yours actually. Yer head’s bleedin’.” 

_Well, that explained the headache_ , Claire thought dimly, reaching up and hissing as her fingers found the abrasion just above her hairline. Sure enough, she was bleeding. Bloody frickin of course. 

The other woman pulled out a cloth and handed it over, resting the pistol on her knee as she watched Claire dab at the wound. She looked around again, but her body was relaxed, like a house cat that knows the dog is outside. 

"Do ye have medicines?” she asked abruptly, making Claire blink. 

"Well, yes. In my pack… oh no my pack!” 

Claire made to stand up, but the woman held her at her elbow to stay put. 

"No’ yet. They may still be about aye?” 

Claire stared at her for a moment, but nodded and closed her eyes, trying to tell by touch if she’d have to give herself stitches. 

"What’s yer name?” the woman said. 

"Claire,” Claire responded automatically without opening her eyes. “Claire…” oh bloody hell… “Claire… Beauchamp.” 

"Nice to meet ye Claire. I’m Jenny Murray. I have a proposition for ye.” 

Claire opened her eyes at that. “Oh?” 

"Aye. Ye see…” Jenny paused, as if forming the best way to say what she needed to. “It’s my brother. He’s been hurt badly. That’s why I’m here. We… helped him get away but…” 

"But those men are still after him,” Claire said slowly, picking up on the situation. “The captain?” 

Jenny swallowed. “Aye.” 

"I see.” 

Claire’s thoughts were spinning. Perhaps she could help Jenny’s brother, then make her way further north. Still, her thoughts returned to Jonathan Randall. Would he know the name Frank Randall? Could he possibly be family, by marriage? 

"If ye will come wi’ me and tend to my brother, ye’ll be paid in food and shelter and given any materials ye’ll need. I can guarantee yer safety as well. Will ye accept?” 

Claire gazed at Jenny. For all this stranger was small and dark, she had a fighting spirit brighter than a star. There was also someone in need of help. Claire couldn’t turn her back on that. 

"Yes. Yes, I accept. I do need one favor though.” 

Jenny had smiled widely at her agreement, and nodded. “Aye, anything.” 

"Commando me back where you dragged me from and help me get my pack back?” 

Jenny sniffed out a laugh, and held out her hand. “Done.” 

Claire smiled back, held out her hand, and sealed the deal.


	4. Part III

Jenny insisted on waiting an hour more before moving out of the trees. After her encounter with Captain Randall, Claire wasn’t going to argue with her. While the thought of a roof over her head and a good meal in her belly was more than enough incentive to follow Jenny Murray, Claire couldn’t help but feel a bit hesitant. Clearly, Jenny’s brother was on the run and as curious as she was about Captain Randall, Claire decidedly wanted to stay the bloody hell away from him. 

_Well, I suppose I could be on the run now too_ , Claire considered. 

From whom though? Jonathan Randall clearly thought he was still military, despite the abrupt end in the way of civilized life. Could there be order out there, still? Settlements of soldiers trying to regain peace and civility amidst all of this chaos? Coders, finding a way to reboot the technology mainframe systems? Other wanderers, like her, coming together to make what they could out of the dust left behind? 

_If that’s the representative of peace and order I’ll bloody remain a hermit_ , Claire thought dubiously, shrugging her pack to ease the tension in her shoulders. Her headache was worse but Claire didn’t think she had a concussion. No nausea or dizziness at any rate. Speaking of injuries… 

“Jenny?” Claire said to the small figure plodding along ahead of her, whose blue eyes were darting around their surroundings to be sure no one was lurking about. 

“Aye?”

“Your brother…”

“Ah.”

Jenny slowed a bit, allowing Claire to catch up. Claire was certainly used to trekking it across the wilderness, but Jenny Murray was a whole different beast entirely. Claire breathed deeply, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation coming from her bruised head with every beat of her heart. 

“Jamie,” Jenny said, glancing at Claire. “His name is Jamie. He’s my younger brother.”

“I see ,” Claire replied, not wanting to push, but encouraging Jenny to go on if she wished. 

“They… I’m no’ sure what they did to him but… I could tell he’s hurt badly. I distracted some of the bastards who took him, ye see, so I didna get a good look.”

“Was that the first bang I heard?”

“Aye. Spark grenade.” 

Claire stared at her. “Where did you get..”

“Dinna ask because I wilna tell ye. Anyway, I could see Ian and Murtagh half carrying, half dragging Jamie away. I..” Jenny swallowed. “I dinna even ken if we were too late.” 

Claire nodded, remaining silent to allow Jenny time to think or talk as she wished while a variety of medical scenarios played through her mind. It wasn’t until Claire practically ran into Jenny that she saw she’d stopped to untie a horse. 

“You have _horses_?” Claire exclaimed. Jenny glanced at her, and the worry line between her brows lessened a bit at the sight of Claire’s obvious surprise. 

“Oh aye,” she replied, swinging up onto the saddle and offering Claire an arm. “If ye thought yer head hurt, Claire, yer arse’ll hurt as much or more by the time we get to where we’re going.”

—  
Claire wouldn’t have been able to keep her mouth shut if she tried. Despite her fatigue from a day’s hard ride in the saddle, the house they were approaching was picturesque in only a way that Scotland could make it. The three story historical home looked like a post card, enhanced by a variety of pens and farm animals scattered outside the house proper. The shadow of the house appeared to reach for them as the sun set. 

Claire clumsily dismounted, looking around. There were smaller buildings surrounding the big stone house. There was a large metal cauldron outside one of these with a fire underneath. Lines of hung, wet clothing ran from one building to another in order to dry. It reminded Claire of the old TV shows she used to watch of how people survived in the old days. A shudder ran through her at the thought. History repeating itself again, apparently. 

“Ian!”

Claire’s attention snapped to Jenny, who had bolted to the open front door to embrace the tall, gangly man who was trying to come outside. They held each other, arms clasped tight. 

“Christ, Jenny where have ye been? You should have beaten us here. I thought..”

He was interrupted by Jenny’s mouth on his. Claire smiled a little, averting her eyes to allow them some privacy. 

The man named Ian must have looked up and noticed her, for he said, “Who’s this then?”

“Oh.” Jenny released him and turned around. “Ian, this is Claire Beauchamp. Claire, my husband, Ian Murray. Claire says she’s a nurse,” Jenny explained. “I thought… seeing Jamie…” Jenny trailed off, eyes on Ian’s face. 

“Aye,” Ian replied grimly, looking back again. Claire straightened as he appraised her. Ian nodded and, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders, beckoned both women into the house. “This way, mo chridh. He’s been sae worrit for ye.”

Claire clambered up the steps and into the house. Every muscle ached, but it felt good to be inside, away from the light outdoors. She’s given in to the probable fact that she did indeed have a slight concussion a few hours into their journey here. The only positive in this was that there was no way she’d have possibly been able to fall asleep whilst riding a horse. 

“Can you please tell me what happened to your brother in law? What are his injuries?” Claire asked, pulling her pack off to carry in her arms as she followed.

Ian glanced at her, then at Jenny. “She’s English?” 

Jenny nodded. “I’ll explain later. Now. Tell me about Jamie?” She stared at him, blue eyes wide, seeming to hold her breath. Ian swallowed and then exhaled. 

“It’s bad. We just arrived ourselves no’ but an hour ago. Jamie he… passed out a fair few times on the way home. I dinna ken if it was from exhaustion or pain but… well..”

Ian had stopped, softly opening a door and stepping aside for Jenny and Claire to go in before him. The room was dark, aside from a small fire in the hearth that was being tended to by a small, dour looking man. Claire looked around. It appeared to be a study. Full bookshelves lined the walls. A large desk had been pushed against one wall to make room for a large camp bed that contained the man Claire had obviously been brought here to treat. 

He was lying face down, shaking slightly. Claire came further in, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room as she put her pack down on the desk. What she saw when she turned back toward the camp bed made her breath hitch. The young man named Jamie was dressed simply in what was once a white long sleeved shirt and jeans. His shirt was now crusted with dirt and stained with blood, old and fresh, from the tops of his shoulders to his sides and down to the waistband of his jeans. 

“Jesus H. Christ,” Claire whispered, adrenaline rising as she opened her pack.


	5. Part IV

Claire quickly opened her pack, mentally going through her list of medicines, various herbs, and bandages she’d been able to stock up while finding shelter in a doctor’s clinic the month before. Most of the effective and valuable items had been cleared out but she had salvaged what she could. Perhaps they had some medicaments here… Looking up, Claire saw Jenny had frozen in the doorway, eyes wide as she took in the sight of her brother. 

Claire glanced at Jamie again, her eyes now fully adjusted to the dimness of the room. He was tall and solid, though the lines of his muscles showed softly through his clothing in a rather graceful way. His back would have looked like that too, she thought regretfully, examining the tattered shirt again. Old and new bloodstains covered the expanse of the back and arms, smelling of sweat and iron. No doubt that the wounds were fresh and deep. 

The firelight sparked off his hair, an array of reds and golds that looked like a flame itself; darker where his sweat had soaked into it and clung to his face. His eyes were closed, jaw clenched, and brow furrowed in pain. The muscles in his forearms stood out as he gripped the underside of the cot. The sight snapped Claire into “Nurse Randall” mode in an instant. 

“We’ll need hot water and clean bandages. I have some here but they aren’t…”

“What’s this, then?” the man by the fire asked sharply, stepping closer to the cot and moving his hand to the large knife sheathed at his belt. “Jenny, have ye lost yer heid, woman? Bringing an English lassie into this house..”

“I’ll explain later,” Jenny replied sharply, coming out of her shock enough to kneel down by the cot. 

Claire followed her gaze, seeing a pair of familiar blue eyes looking back at her. While Jamie’s face was pale, his eyes were as bright as the sea in sunlight. So much in a look; curiosity, wariness, and pain most notably. Not that Claire could blame him on any of those counts. Jenny brushed the sweaty strands of hair from his face, but his gaze didn’t leave Claire’s. 

“Janet,” the other man said, affecting to sound reasonable, “did ye not consider..”

“Aye, I have. I said I’ll explain later. Now,” Jenny turned to Claire, “what will ye be needing then?”

_______________________________________

Claire arranged all of her supplies on the small table by the camp bed. Jenny, Ian, and the dour man who’s was Murtagh had gone off to scour the house for fresh bandages, get hot water, and find whatever they possessed of pain medication. Left alone with her patient, Claire’s mind calmed, going through her mental check list of how to approach this. Glancing down, she saw that Jamie was breathing shallowly, but steadily. He’d closed his eyes again. She knelt down to his level. 

“I’m sorry but may I check your pulse?” she asked softly, placing a hand on his forearm. She briefly felt the sudden heat of him before Jamie started awake, letting out a slew of muffled exclamations Claire couldn’t understand as his movements jostled his wounds. She got the gist though. 

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I.. I need to check your pulse please.”

Jamie’s breathing was a bit ragged, but he nodded shortly before laying his forehead down on his other forearm on the cot. Claire took his wrist and started counting, watching his fists slowly uncurl as he relaxed back onto the cot. 

“Good,” Claire said, resting his arm on the bed again. Heartbeat quick, but steady. She placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to determine if the heat coming off of him was normal or if he was fevered. 

“Can you manage looking at me for a moment? I’d like to check your pupils.” 

To her surprise, Jamie sniffed out a short laugh. “Aye,” he said, with a rye quirk at the corner of his mouth. “I think I can manage that.”

He grimaced as he lifted his head again to try and turn his face toward her. 

“Here,” Claire said softly, putting a hand under his cheek to help. Jamie’s eyes snapped to hers then, looking at her like he’d never seen anything like her before. She squeezed his shoulder gently. “It will be alright. You’re in for a rough time of it but… I can help. Getting that shirt off will be the worst of it. Then we’ll go from there”

Jamie didn’t respond at all, just continued looking at her. So much in that look. Intelligence. Kindness. Considering. And something else that made Claire blush. 

“Aye,” he replied again, after a moment. “I’ll do, Sassenach. Dinna fash.” 

Claire snorted, resulting in a genuine smile from Jamie. 

“Sassenach, huh? I served with many Scots in the Last War. I know what that means. And,” Claire continued in what she hoped was a light hearted tone, “you’re about to knowingly undergo a fairly painful cleaning process and you’re telling me not to ‘fash’?”

Jamie smirked and shrugged slightly, wincing a bit as he did so. 

“Don’t do that,” Claire admonished, stilling him with a hand to his shoulder again. He glanced at her hand, then back up again. 

“Canna hurt much worse than it does.”

Claire purses her lips a bit, but nodded with a sigh. “Alright. We’ll get pain meds on board, then I’ll start..”

“I dinna want medicines,” he replied shortly, meeting her raised eyebrows with one of his own. 

“No meds? J-.. Mr. Fraser you don’t want to..”

“James,” he interrupted again. “Jamie. I go by Jamie.”

Claire wasn’t used to being interrupted or questioned. It took a second for her to realize she was sitting there gaping like a fish. She gave him her best Nurse Randall look, which resulted in another of his half smiles. Cheeky bastard. 

“Alright. Jamie. Why are you refusing medication?”

“We may be in need of it later,” he replied. “I dinna want to be wi'out when the need is greatest. I can handle this. I wilna move.”

“Jamie, you can’t promise me that. When I start-”

“I will promise ye. I dinna want to waste good medicine on something like this. There will be need for them later.”

Seeing her begin to formulate another plan of attack, Jamie continued, “I’m not going to die, am I?”

“No!” Claire responded quickly. “No,” she said again, more firmly. 

“Then I dinna think it necessary. I’ll do,” he said again as Jenny, Ian, and Murtagh reentered the room. 

“Bloody effing Scot,” Claire muttered, rising to accept the parcels Jenny carried. 


	6. Part V

Claire had always had a knack for compartmentalizing. Whether it was life after her parents’ death, being a nurse in the War, or her recent life as a solitary nomad, she could separate herself from feeling and fear to deal with the here and now. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and set to work. 

Despite Claire, Jenny, and anyone else’s opinions on the matter, Jamie had flatly refused pain medications. The stare down between the two siblings was something to behold, but the results didn’t change. He asked for a towel to replace his pillow, a few drams from the farm’s whisky stock, and to be left alone while his back was tended to. Claire had averted eye contact, but caught the gist of the Gaelic arguments going back and forth from all four Scots. They didn’t trust her enough to leave her alone with him, despite the fact that Jamie could probably knock her flat even in his present condition. 

“Is… something funny?”

Claire started, nearly dropping the scissors she was about to use to cut his shirt open. 

“Don’t _do_ that!” she scolded. 

“Sorry,” Jamie replied, though the curve of his mouth suggested he found her quite amusing. “Ought I not be concerned that ye were smirkin’ whilst preparing to slit my shirt open?” 

Claire gave him a look. “Oh, I was not ‘smirking’”.

“Aye. Ye were,” he retorted, eyes gleaming with mischief. Claire gave him a look, then smiled and shook her head. 

“I think you may be drunk my lad,“ she rejoined, putting the scissors on the table and seeing his raised eyebrow. “Alright. I might have been,” she conceded, taking a knee by the camp bed and pulling a hair tie out of one of her pants pockets. “May I?” she asked, holding it up for him to see. 

“No, I am'ne and aye, ye can,” he replied, resting his forehead on his arms so Claire could pull his hair out of the way. 

Being caught up in the bantering, Claire didn’t realize how tense Jamie had been. She reached to gather his hair, expecting the warmth of his body this time, but not his reaction. It was as if he unconsciously melted into her touch; like every wave of his copper hair that passed through her fingers rid him of some burden he carried. 

Claire could see his pulse beating in his neck, steady but fast; goose flesh rippled over his arms; she knew without looking that he’d closed his eyes. He looked so young and vulnerable and yet he trusted her, a complete stranger, to do this. Trust was a rare commodity these days. She swallowed, placing a hand on his arm again as a sudden wave of tenderness swept through her. He opened his eyes and looked at her, open and fathomless. 

“Ready?” she whispered. 

He continued to gaze at her for a moment longer before he nodded. 

“Aye, Sassenach.”

Claire exhaled, gave his arm a light squeeze, and picked up the scissors again. Jenny had brought a stash of saline and had soaked Jamie’s shirt with it in order to make its removal easier. Claire hoped to trade for some before she left. The antibiotic ointments and fresh bandages were lined up and ready. 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she muttered, reaching for more saline. 

Claire had hoped that the scabbing hadn’t fused with the shirt cloth but found her hopes dashed as she began to tug on the tattered pieces. Jamie’s skin tried to come up with his shirt. The extent of his injuries weren’t apparent while covered up but she could feel now how many lacerations he must have. Claire looked down, seeing that he was clutching the frame of the cot again. As if he sensed her, he opened his eyes to look at her again. 

“Do what ye must. I’ll stand it,” he said gruffly, then shut his eyes again. 

Claire pursed her lips, but went to grab more damp cloths from the hearth. Placing these by her other medicaments, she grabbed an end of shirt cloth and the saline bottle. 

_Alright Beauchamp. Squirt the saline underneath and pull the cloth. Stanch bleeding with the damp cloths. Assess. Clean. Disinfect. Possibly multiple times. Keep the wounds moist until scabbing shouldn’t result in infection. Now, how to do this on a large, pig-headed Scot who refused pain medication…_

“This is a lovely place,” she said to try to distract him, selecting a bit of shirt that didn’t appear to stick as much. 

_Saline and pull, saline and pull.. ___

“Aye,” Jamie muttered. “Aye it’s… been in my family since the 1700’s. Ancestral and all that. It’s a bonny place.”

“Mmm,” Claire agreed, pleased to see no bleeding from the first strip. “Are all your family fluent in Gaelic?”

_Shit._

Jamie’s forearms strained as Claire removed the next bit of shirt, taking most of the healed skin with it, but he made no sound. 

"Aye,” he said after a moment, realizing the damp cloths Claire was dabbing him with wouldn’t hurt. “Since we were bairns.”

"That’s wonderful,” Claire replied, giving him a moment to recover. “Language is fascinating. Everything else may be shot to hell but people always find ways of communicating.”

"There are more ways than words to do that Sassenach,” the Scot responded dryly. 

Claire wasn’t sure she heard him right but, looking down, saw one blue cat eye crinkled in amusement. She smiled and shrugged in assent, appalled to feel a blush creeping up her neck, but her mind returned to his back in the next instant. 

_God, what did they do?_

"Alright. This is the worst part.”

He’d kept his gaze on her and nodded, gripping the cot tighter and setting his jaw. 

_Saline and pull, saline and pull…._ Jamie’s breathing turned into hissing noises, but he still remained silent…. _Saline and pull, saline and pull…._ the muscles of his arms strained as he held on… 

"Almost got it… keep still…” she breathed. Jamie responded with a huff of breath but continued to do as she asked. 

_Saline and pull, saline and pull…_

"Done!“ Claire exclaimed triumphantly, grabbing for the last of the damp bandages to wipe the trickling blood away. Between the stress of removing the pieces of his shirt and the fire in the hearth, Claire felt her own perspiration make its way down her face and back. She wiped her forehead with her arm, then poured more saline on the cloths she’d put in place.

"Well done,” she said softly, bringing a cup of water for him to drink. “I need to clean and redress it, but that can wait a minute.”

"This isna whisky,” he said huskily, forming what he could of a smile. Claire noted the paleness of his face, but his eyes were still focused. 

"I promise you’ll be fully rewarded later. Right now though,” Claire gave another Nurse Randall look, “I need you coherent.”

"Careful lass,” Jamie said as she stood. “A promise is a verra serious thing in the Highlands.”

————————————

The human body is a miraculous thing. So many connections and processes required for life to go on. Things seen and unseen that is the makeup of a person. Claire removed the cloths and gazed at Jamie’s back in fascinated horror. 

"Bloody fucking hell..”

"Aye. It was.”

Jamie sniffed out an uncomfortable laugh, but the tension in his shoulders had returned. Claire took in his flayed skin, some wounds deep enough to cut the muscle underneath. How could he have stayed still like this, let alone ride a horse? 

"Randall.”

Claire jumped at her name, eyes snapping to Jamie’s. “What?”

"The uh, captain you encountered..” Jamie looked down then. “T'was him that flogged me.”

She nodded and blinked hard, then turned to her pack. He may have refused his sister’s medicines, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

"Why were you flogged?” Claire asked, keeping her tone calm as she spread the topical lidocaine through the welts and blood on his back. It wouldn’t completely numb the area, but it would at least take the edge off. 

Jamie made a Scottish noise. “Obstruction.”

"Obstruction? Does that exist now, with no one to enforce it?”

"It does if ye have the numbers to make it so.”

"And he does?” she asked, hoping the talk would at least distract from the first round of cleaning. 

"Aye,” Jamie all but whispered, blue eyes staring straight ahead as Claire set to work. 

"We served together in the Last War. Randall and me I mean,” he continued. “Near on four years ago now, they evacuated our companies from the mainland. I was… glad to come home, away from all of it.“

Claire felt a pang in her own heart at his words. 

"Ye might not have noticed when ye arrived but we’ve many tenants near here. Small places that have been part of this land for generations. We didna have the old ways of collecting rents and pledging fealty but… we look after each other. The way it should be.”

"It sounds wonderful,” Claire replied softly, switching out a used cloth for a new one. “Are there many families?”

"Aye, a fair few. Not as many as there once was but-ah!” 

"Sorry. This one’s very dirty.”

"S'fine,” Jamie hissed, burying his face into his forearm. 

Claire glanced around for something else. “You still have lamps here. Old habits die hard?”

She saw Jamie smirk despite what she was doing to him. 

"We’ve electricity.”

Claire stopped dead. 

"What?”

Jamie lifted his head and grinned at what must have been a flabbergasted face. 

"Electricity. Dinna have it where you come from?”

"No one’s had electricity since the virus outbreak spread to the utility systems.”

"Well, this modest farm never tapped into the utility systems. We harvest it with old fashioned water power.”

"You’re kidding.”

"No, I’m not. If ye can patch me up, I can show ye tomorrow.”

"Nice try. You’re not moving from this bed for at least three days,” Claire replied, moving on to the next laceration. 

Jamie gave a grunt of amusement, but silence soon followed as Claire continued her work. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but Claire felt a weight to it; it was as if something hung in the air that wasn’t quite tangible, but just within reach all the same.

"Why you?” she blurted. “Why did he come after you?”

“I wouldna give him what he wanted. He..” Jamie shook his head, as if to catch the right words. “It’s… personal. Wi’ him, I mean.”

Claire moved to the table to grab the antibiotic ointment. If the scars on this man’s back were any indication, “personal” was an understatement. 

“What was it that he wanted?”

A moment passed. Claire thought Jamie was going to ignore her question, but felt him shift a little as he sighed. Exhaustion and sweat lined his body and, when he spoke, he sounded far away. 

“Power. Respect. He demanded it, always. The thing he never understood was what it took to earn it.”

Sensing this was all he would say on the subject, Claire nodded, bending down again to smooth Jamie’s hair out of his face. _Still pale, but eyes clear._ He blinked blearily at her as she touched his cheek with the back of her hand. _Slight fever._

“Rest now, hm? I’ll guard the whisky.”

One corner of Jamie’s mouth turned up and he nodded. 

“I’ll hold ye to that, Sassenach.”

Claire chuckled, allowed her thumb one light caress of his cheekbone, then stood and covered his back with a light bandage. She’d have to redo the process again, but Jamie needed sleep first. 

Claire turned to tell him so but looked down in time to see that his eyes had already closed and his lips were slightly parted in restorative sleep. Smiling to herself, she pulled a tartan blanket off the high backed chair near the head of the cot and laid it gently over him. Claire curled up into the chair, watching over him until fatigue dragged her under, forcing all thoughts and feelings blessedly from her mind. 


	7. Part VI

_The world was raining down as Claire sprinted through the streets of Paris. Explosions behind and to the left. The smell of blood and burning. Bodies littered the streets. She had to get to the rendezvous. Ignoring the stitch in her side and taste of iron in her mouth, Claire rallied for more speed, rounding a corner to…_

_The world was dark. Sounds were muffled, like a gun being fired under water. Claire screamed, but dirt and debris filled her mouth as she did so, determined to suffocate her._

_So this is what drowning is like…_

_She struggled, barely containing her panic as she tried to make it to the surface. Then, someone grabbed her by the leg, holding on as if to drag her further under…_

Claire lurched awake, barely keeping herself from falling out of the chair and onto the floor. Blood pounded thickly in her ears with each frantic beat of her heart and gasp of breath. Her eyes darted wildly around the dark room, her brain trying to understand the shadows and shapes cast by the dying embers of the fire in the hearth that replaced the death and destruction of her nightmares. 

Then, Claire found the one tether between dreaming and waking; a firm, steadying hand holding her just below the knee. Her eyes slid up to meet Jamie’s, just small pin pricks of light looking at her in the darkness that surrounded them. She exhaled a shuddering breath, seeing Jamie’s body relax as she did so. 

_God, I must have scared the hell out of him_ , Claire thought, feeling his pulsing energy in his grip and through the connection of their locked gazes. Claire couldn’t have looked away if she wanted to. 

_Alright, Sassenach?_ his eyes asked, searching her face. 

Claire swallowed, then nodded. Yes. 

Jamie’s eyes moved back and forth between hers, assessing. After a moment, he nodded back, giving her leg a light squeeze of reassurance and, she somehow knew, understanding. He let go, grimacing as he tried to shift himself fully onto the camp bed again. 

Claire jumped up, helping him hold his arm steady to reduce the stretching of his wounded back. 

“You’re lucky you didn’t fall off,” she said lightly, relieved to see the bandages had stayed in place. 

Claire felt Jamie’s eyes on her again but avoided looking at him as she checked for bleeding. It had been Jamie in her nightmare, not trying to drown her, but trying to pull her out; to save her. Claire felt her skin tingle, feeling both on edge and exhilarated, somehow knowing where his gaze caressed her face without seeing it. She pulled the tartan blanket gently over him again and kneeled beside him. 

“I’ll need to clean and re-dress your back soon,” she whispered. “I don’t want the dressings to stick. You should sleep more.”

“Ye should too,” Jamie replied just as softly, disarming blue eyes steady on hers. 

Claire felt exposed and vulnerable, as if he could hear her thoughts and see her soul. What frightened her most was that it was as if her soul wanted him to find her…but no. That couldn’t happen. After all, she meant to leave soon. 

Claire cleared her throat, tearing her eyes away from Jamie’s. 

_Jesus H. Christ, get a grip Beauchamp._

“In a bit,” she replied, then stood abruptly, retreating back into the shell she’d been in for the last five years. The existence that meant survival. Safety. Freedom. No one to worry over her or be worried for. A simple, quiet life. 

Jamie seemed to sense her shift in mood and merely nodded again, giving her space as her thoughts jumped from one feeling and conclusion to another. One thing Claire knew with absolute certainty; James Fraser saw her like no one else did and, perhaps, she saw _him_ too. She didn’t know how, but there it was, in every look and every touch they exchanged. Whatever “it” was unnerved her completely. 

_No. This can’t happen._

Claire curled up in the chair again, eyes unfocused on the embers in the hearth, studiously avoiding the young Highlander pretending to sleep in the bed a foot away from her. He wouldn’t sleep again unless she did; they were connected somehow, whether they wanted it or no. Claire tilted her head back and closed her eyes, shutting out the world. She needed to leave as soon as possible.


	8. Part VII

Claire gradually fell into a doze in the early hours of the morning, waking fully to her inner nurse’s clock that told her there was work to be done. Jamie, who had himself finally succumbed to the restorative sleep his body needed, blinked listlessly at her as she woke him to redress his bandages. 

_There’s the bloody fever_ , she thought dispassionately, confirming her theory with the thermometer someone had brought in with the fresh bandages. 

_102.3. Need to watch that…_

Jamie withstood the second cleaning with as much fortitude as the first. They’d done this in relative silence, whatever connection formed the night before overshadowed by shyness. The runnels of wounds were stark against his ruddy skin, but appeared to be doing rather well at this stage. After a brief squeeze of his shoulder, Claire left Jamie with Ian and Murtagh, muttering brief instructions to keep the patient as immobile as could be managed while they helped him wash and change. 

The day dawned, fog pearling its tendrils through the trees and outbuildings of the unexpected haven Claire found herself in. She breathed in the crisp air, relaxing as the rising sun warmed her face and cast shadows through the courtyard. Sounds of livestock and the faint, raspy morning voices of their caretakers reached her ears, making her smile. It felt good to be amongst so much life again, however brief the time would be. 

“Claire?”

Claire startled a little, but smiled at Ian as he sat down on the stairs beside her, groaning a little as he stretched out his right leg in front of him. 

“Sorry about that. Didna meet to startle ye.”

“It’s alright,” Claire replied sincerely. “I was off somewhere else for a bit.” Claire gazed around the courtyard. “It’s really very peaceful here.”

Ian smiled, nodding. “Aye, it is.”

“How’s the patient?”

Ian’s face transformed into an interesting combination of a smirk and a grimace. 

“He’ll do.”

Claire nodded, taking mental inventory of how much lidocaine she had left in her medical bag. 

“Was this always a working farm? I mean, before..”

“In a way. The Fraser family kept it up as a tourist spot. ‘Travel to the past.’ That sort of thing. It’s been this way for generations now. Earned the place extra money for upkeep and allowed the tenants work so they could stay. We’ve always been fairly secluded out here so it wasna the complete end of the world for us when the Last War ended and everything went to hell. Thank God,” he said, looking around. “Without everyone here, we’d have all been dead long since.”

“Hmm,” Claire answered, the slight pull of her heart at the thought taking her aback. She cleared her throat. “Was Jamie in the service long then? He told me he’d just come back when the War… ended.” Claire shook her head and sighed. ‘Ended’. More like dissolved. Destroyed. 

Claire could see Ian give her a quick, appraising look before he answered. 

“Aye,” he said, nodding gravely. “We both joined around the same time. What about you?” he asked, turning back suddenly. 

Claire blinked, but then smiled. “How did you guess?”

“Yer pack is military issue,” Ian replied, kind brown eyes alight. “I’d recognize medical personnel anywhere.”

_You bloody would_ , Claire thought with a small jolt as Ian pulled his right pant leg up. It was well crafted, but clearly becoming the worse for wear. The artificial leg, having once been coated with the perfect finish of Ian’s natural skin color, was faded in places and scuffed in others. The mechanics still appeared to work though, Claire noted, seeing the foot move as Ian shifted for her to see. 

“Lost it in France going on five years ago now,” Ian said conversationally. “Honing shot. I was lucky, but didna feel so at the time.”

“Does it bother you at all?” Claire asked. Then, realizing she may have sounded rude, clarified, “Discomfiture, I mean.”

“No, though it aches a wee bit at the end of the day.” Ian rubbed the flesh above the binding meditatively. “Ye wouldn’t have had training in medical robotics would ye?”

Claire grimaced regretfully. “I’m sorry, no. Just plain flesh and bone for me.”

Ian smiled kindly, waving it off in a 'think nothing of it’ gesture. 

“It’s alright. I’m lucky the program is so simple. We’ve electricity and a few of the tenants know some programming. No’ much difference between my leg and the bale stacker apparently,” he said self deprecatingly. 

Claire couldn’t help but laugh with him. 

“I take it you are of the same opinion as Jamie when it comes to pain control?” she asked, nodding at his knee. 

Ian snorted but tilted his head in acquiescence. 

“Have you tried water pepper?”

“No,” he replied, looking curious. “How do you use it?”

“I’ll make some for you to try,” Claire offered, liking him. “I’ll show you how before I leave.”

“Thank ye, that’s verra kind.” 

They smiled at each other, then sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes. The sun was almost above the trees now. A horse whinnied in the distance. As if on cue, Ian stood. 

“I’d best be getting back. Take care of Jamie, aye?”

“Of course.”

Ian gave her a smile and a short bow, then turned toward the stables. Claire watched him go, only now noticing that he walked with a slight limp. She stood up to go inside, resolving to convince Ian to let her examine his leg to see what could be done. 

_Perhaps the artificial leg itself needed new padding…_

The house was dim inside compared to the brightness of the morning. The smell of a simple breakfast wafted through the hallway, causing Claire’s mouth to water. In the excitement of the past two days, she’d forgotten all else but what was immediately urgent. Her stomach rumbled, informing her of its own opinion on where priorities stood. First though, she needed to check on Jamie. 

Claire was almost to the doorway of the study when she heard a loud THUMP followed by semi stifled groans and muffled curses. She ran the last six steps to the door and barely managed to sidestep Jamie as she flew into the room. 

“What the _bloody hell_ do you think you’re doing?” she gasped, dropping to the floor where Jamie apparently had fallen. 

“I..”

“Oh be quiet, I need to take your pulse.” 

Jamie exhaled shakily, clearly in no little pain. Ian or Murtagh must have opened the windows while they were there. The rare Scottish sun drifted through the room, lighting on Jamie’s hair and sending sparks of copper, auburn, and cinnamon through Claire’s vision. She was also seeing red, but for another reason. 

“Congratulations, soldier, you’ve managed to reopen your back. I told you to stay put and rest and what do you do? Throw yourself off your cot and set yourself back again.”

“I didna _throw_ myself off anything,” Jamie said through gritted teeth, with as much dignity as a large, injured Scot who has just fallen on his face could muster. Claire was so caught off guard by his tone of voice that she laughed. Jamie smiled weakly, his face pale but for the blush creeping up the back of his neck and into his face. Claire blew the stray wisps of curly hair out of her face. 

“Alright. Let’s get you up.”

“Aye,” he grunted, placing his hands on the floor to push himself up. 

Claire caught him under the arm, bracing him as he struggled to his feet like a newborn deer. The skin of his torso was hot and dry under her hands as she began to maneuver him toward the cot, taking care of his now partially bandaged back. Each movement Jamie made resulted in a slight grimace or a hiss of his breath. She noticed he was trying to take most of his own weight, despite how weak he obviously was. 

_Still fevered, then_. 

Someone had brought him a pair of dark blue sweatpants to replace his bloodied jeans. Claire turned him to face her, avoiding eye contact as she grasped his large, warm hands. 

“Alright. Hang on to me and we’ll get you to the cot. Easy does it.”

She began shuffling backward, pulling Jamie gently with her, allowing him to try and do this under his own power. After three steps, he stumbled a bit. Claire’s heart lurched and, without thought or hesitation, she reacted. 

She could feel his breath caress her ear, his cheek brushing her hair. His hands anchored at her waist as her own held him at his, the heat of his body causing her own pale skin to flush. Claire slowly raised her eyes, seeing the rapid pulse beat in his neck; his throat moving as he swallowed; his wide, soft mouth; blue eyes meeting hers. 

“Sorry, _a nighean_ ,” Jamie whispered. 

Claire licked her lower lip, breath catching as his eyes caught the movement. Her body felt like a tightened guitar string; as if the very air surrounding them vibrated with the tension of their connection. Claire swallowed, tightening her hold on him as she beckoned him to follow her again; a slow, awkward dance that only they shared, holding each other up. 

Claire felt Jamie’s gaze as she helped him sit on the edge of the camp bed, then as she bustled about preparing to redress his back, trying to get a hold of her wits and pounding heart. Infatuation. This wasn’t the first time she’d experienced it. After all, she reasoned, Jamie was physically attractive. A fellow veteran. Obviously brave and intelligent. There were few things not to like in the little time she’d known him. 

_Except that damned stubbornness. Thinking he can walk about against orders, making me pick his sorry arse up off the…_

“Why did ye not call for help?” Jamie asked quietly. 

“What?” Claire startled, feeling like he had plucked her thoughts from her mind. 

“When ye found me. Ye could have called for help. I would have gotten a tongue lashing into next Tuesday like it seems you want to give me right now but they would have gotten me off the floor. Ye didn’t. Why?”

Claire observed him, taking her time to formulate an answer. He sat straight and still, arms bracing his weight as his hands clutched the bed for support, eyes hesitant but direct. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, the lines of his body flowing smoothly from muscle to bone; an imposing figure to most despite his current circumstances. To Claire, though, he looked exhausted. 

“You needed to help yourself,” she said simply. “That’s why you got up before you were supposed to. You needed to prove that you could do it. To yourself.”

His eyes bore into hers, simultaneously intense and gentle. 

“Aye,” he responded softly.

“Who was I to take that from you?” she asked, trying to control the emotion in her voice. Without waiting for an answer, she turned her back on him again, continuing to prep bandages. 

“Bloody hero,” she muttered.


	9. Part VIII

Over the course of the next four days, Jamie began to heal and Claire began to distance herself. They would chat idly over neutral topics every morning and evening when she examined his wounds, but the conversation never flourished as it had during their first days together. Jamie never pushed and Claire could tell he was carefully controlling himself. She would pass his daily care off to his family and explore the farm and the lands surrounding it.

An outlander in this new community she found herself in, Claire tried to stay out of the way by searching the land for medicinal plants and fungi that grew in the area. The smell of wet mud and heather hung in the air, along with the crispness of the coming evening. Despite the lush Scottish landscape, Claire knew fall was coming on quickly; another reason to leave Lallybroch as soon as possible. 

“Whatever makes you feel like less of a coward Beauchamp,” she muttered, digging through the shallow water of a small pond for water pepper. 

Considering her situation, staying would probably be the wisest decision. Food, shelter, and a way to pass the harsh winter. She could continue using her nursing skills as well, especially if her suspicions about Jenny Murray were accurate. Claire was no midwife, but she had attended births in school. Inclement weather also brought with it inevitable illnesses. She could be useful here. 

Then, there was Jamie Fraser. 

Claire tossed a clump of water pepper into her basket, ignoring the tightening of her chest at the thought of him. His imposing height and self composure; hair of red, copper, cinnamon, and auburn that curled over his forehead and at the nape of his neck. The slight twitch of his mouth when she amused him; the way his brow would furrow slightly when she was silent and lost in her thoughts. 

It wasn’t unusual for a medical professional to become attached to their patient in various ways. Traumatic and difficult ordeals naturally brought people together, after all. Claire had seen it happen during the War many times. Young men and women pushed beyond their limits; comfort found in the darkest places of the world. What troubled Claire most wasn’t the connection they shared, but the absence of darkness in all of it. 

Claire shook off the thought, squelching out of the mud as carefully as she could. The sun dipped below the tree line, casting shadows and rays of light through the heather. Birds called softly from the trees, flittering madly, about to prepare for whatever it was birds do at night. Claire closed her eyes, breathing in the last scents of day and the beginning of night. 

She could have stood there five minutes or thirty. The cold Highland breeze lifted the curly hair from her neck, sending a chill down her body. Opening her eyes, Claire froze as she saw a figure leaning with its forearms on the fence, watching her. Feeling too serene to glare at him, she merely raised an eyebrow and made her way over to lean in from the opposite side, her own forearms braced on the rail beside his.

“When I said you could start getting up and moving, I believe I instructed you to take it slow at first,” she said conversationally. 

Jamie sniffed out a laugh, eyes crinkling a bit in amusement. 

“Aye well, I walked instead of ran.” 

“Could you run?” 

He grinned. “God no.” 

Claire laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly with her own. His body, always warm, radiated heat; she slowly leaned back into him, barely touching. She glanced down at his shirtsleeves that were rolled up to the elbow. Just the sight made her shiver again. 

“Aren’t you cold?” 

“Nay. We Highlanders are made of sturdier stuff than you blue-nosed Southrons,” he replied, only wincing slightly as he straightened and held out his arm. “I brought ye a coat. I could see ye shivering from inside the house.” 

“Blue-nosed huh?” she retorted, smiling a bit as he helped her into the large coat, clearly his own from the size and scent of it, the tartan fabric still warm from the heat of his body. 

“Hmm,” he hummed lowly, looking her over in a way that made Claire’s belly tighten suddenly. He raised his hand slowly, watching her face, then very lightly ran a knuckle from the bridge of her nose down to the tip. 

“Red then,” he all but whispered, face mere inches from her own. 

Claire could feel her cheeks flush; she parted her lips for a comeback, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Jamie’s eyes never left hers; he swallowed, and she shivered. One corner of Jamie’s mouth turned up and he looked away from her as he shifted and pressed his side along the length of hers to warm her. Claire melted into him, trembling from cold and nerves, joining him in watching the last of the sun disappear. She could tell Jamie had something to say and waited for him to find his words. 

“Do you..” he began, then cleared his throat, apparently changing his mind. Claire nudged him gently. 

“What?” 

“I dinna want to pry, Sassenach,” he said, glancing at her, then down at his hands. “I’m wondering what your plans are now? I ken ye told Jenny..” he trailed off. 

_Bloody hell, this was it_. Claire took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly before answering. 

“I mean to leave soon. You’ve healed quite well in such a short amount of time. You have your family to keep you from doing something completely idiotic, if needed.” 

The last was said in jest, but her heart squeezed a little. 

_Why is this so hard? God, get a grip Beauchamp!_

“True, but none of them order me around quite like you do, Sassenach. Scold me, curse me for bleedin’ to death…” 

He turned his head to look down at her, face controlled but eyes warm and bright. They matched the sky, blue and black and violet pinpricked by the soft light of Lallybroch’s windows. 

“I want you to stay, Claire.” 

The words hung between them, echoing through Claire’s brain along with the beating of her heart. 

_I want you to stay._

_Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ_. 

“I dinna ask just for me,” he went on hurriedly, obviously seeing something change in that damn transparent face of hers. “I ask for my tenants. My family. For you, Sassenach. It’ll be winter before too long. You’d be safe here. Ye wouldna have to worry about food and shelter. It-” 

“I can fend for myself, thank you,” she replied, nervously playing with the long sleeves of his coat. “I’ve managed so far.” 

“Aye, ye have,” he agreed. He sighed. “My sister’s pregnant. Have ye noticed?”

Claire paused, then nodded. 

“I suspected.” 

Jamie sighed again, looking worn. Claire mentally kicked herself for letting him stay on his feet for so long. 

“You’re worried about Jenny? The pregnancy?” she asked softly, looking up at him again. His features were dark. Only the edges could be seen in the relief of the cloudy night sky; curly hair, high cheekbone, mouth pursed in thought. 

“My mother… she died in childbirth, ken,” he started. “I was eight. It… it wasna usual, wi’ medical advancements but… it happened.” 

Claire stared at him, wide eyed. She slowly reached out, gently squeezing his forearm. 

“I’m so sorry, Jamie.” 

He covered her hand with his own, then met her eyes. 

“I ken ye have yer reasons for wanting to leave and I’ll no’ ask what ye dinna want to tell me. But I will offer ye a home, however long ye wish to claim it. I only ask that ye stay until the bairn comes in the spring. After that, I’ll take ye wherever it is ye wish to go.” 

Claire stared at him, piecing his words together in her mind. His fear. An offer of a home, of usefulness. Protection and a future. Several possibilities, if only she would grab at them. In her heart, a flare of hope that was matched by the blue eyes that waited intently for her answer. 

She stepped away from him, and held out her hand. He glanced down, surprised, but smiled as he took her hand and shook it. Claire smiled back, not noticing he didn’t let go until he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it formally. 

“Thank you, Sassenach. Truly.”


	10. Part IX

Lallybroch reminded Claire of the cuckoo clock Uncle Lamb had had in one of the few rental properties they’d lived in. Life was run on a schedule; the tenants and livestock the cogs and wheels of the machine that ran it. If one piece was missing or broken, time and progress would not move forward. 

The Frasers had been the central piece of this land since the 1700’s, Claire learned. The Fraser ancestors built the house and their descendants inherited the property through generations of tradition and hard work. While modernized technology found its way into parts of the farm’s processes, the Lallybroch estate had remained one of the few working farms in Scotland that was fully self sufficient. Because of this, they continued to survive when the Last War ended. 

The remaining Frasers were the heart and mind of the estate, the focal points of decision and order. Winter was fast approaching, which meant all supplies and livestock needed to be accounted for and properly protected once the weather turned. Caches of supplies were hidden and stored for the winter and the planting in the spring. 

Claire found herself slowly finding her place in the workings of the farm, beginning her duties as the estate’s temporary nurse and lending a hand wherever needed. News that she would be staying for a time spread quickly through the little community. Most greeted her warmly enough, but Claire could sense the hesitancy; while her skills were useful, she was still an outlander and would have to earn her place among them. 

She was given her own guest room on the second floor; it was cozy and quiet and had its own small fireplace in the corner. Compared to the last ten years of dorm room beds, army cots, and whatever patch of brambles looked the most comfortable, the luxury wasn’t lost on her every time she curled up under the already warm covers. 

Jenny bustled about, tending to who knew how many mental checklists inside her head and making sure everyone was properly fed and cared for. Her son, Young Jamie, could be found following in the wake of his mother’s billowing wool skirt, either helping or causing trouble at inconvenient moments. Claire was happy to learn that Young Jamie’s birth had been uneventful; she hoped for the same for Jenny’s new baby.

Jamie, despite discomfort and Claire’s insistence on taking things slowly, was found outside with his tenants every day doing what he could. Claire found herself watching him; the knowledgeable way he addressed concerns; the way he carried himself, despite his healing back and muscles; how well he knew each and every person around him. James Fraser was a leader of men. She could easily see him on the battlegrounds of Europe, leading troops through the rubble that remained of great cities. 

“Claire!”

She turned at the sound of her name, echoes of gunshots and spark grenade explosions fading as Jenny came toward her. Claire breathed deeply and wiped her sweaty palms on her cargo pants. Flashes of the Last War weren’t uncommon for her, but unsettling didn’t begin to describe it. 

“Are ye alright Claire?” Jenny asked, brow furrowed as she looked up into Claire’s face. Claire tried her best attempt at a smile. 

“Yes, perfectly fine. Did you need me to help with something?”

Jenny gazed at her a moment before turning and beckoning Claire to follow her with a tilt of her head. 

“It’s no so much what you can do for me as what I can do for you. Here, this way.”

She led Claire into a smaller building near the barn. Assorted plastic bins and bits of machinery were piled along the walls; Claire didn’t doubt that Jenny knew what was in every last one of them. Jenny was moving about, mumbling a bit as she surveyed the boxes. She was still light on her feet, despite the pregnancy. 

“Ah here’s the one. Claire, could ye help me please?”

“What’s in this?” Claire asked as they managed to extract the bin from the middle of the pile and place it on the floor. 

“It’s wool,” Jenny answered, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Ye’ve seen the sheep herd aye?”

Claire nodded, feeling the soft yet slightly scratchy material. It still smelled slightly of fresh dye. 

“Weel, we shear them and then make the wool. It used to be for the tourists, ye ken. We’d reenacted the process of making the fabric but we used modern dye instead of urine and plants.”

“Urine?” Claire asked, eyebrow raised. Jenny laughed. 

“Oh aye. It set the dye faster than anything else at the time. Dinna fash though. We still have plenty of dye to last us a long while yet.”

“It’s fascinating to me how this place has been able to survive, despite everything. You’ve all done a fine job.”

“Thank ye,” Jenny replied, appearing pleased. “Now, are ye any good wi’ a needle?”

“Yes, but only when dealing with flesh.”

“Och, we’ll manage. If you’d agree, I’d like to have clothes made for ye. Winter is coming on and I dinna think what ye have will be sufficient for the elements,” Jenny said, putting the lid back on the box. 

“Oh you don’t have to,” Claire started, touched at the kind thought. Jenny gave her a blue eyed look. 

“It’s the least we can do. Now,” she continued, discussion apparently ended, “Could ye please help me take this to the house. Mrs. Crook and I can take your measurements.”

————————————–  
Claire pulled the bedroom chair close to the fire and sat down, carefully balancing her hot cup of tea. The warmth from the flames and from the cup began to spread through her extremities, leaving her with a feeling of heavy limbed contentedness and well being. She curled her feet under herself, adjusting the tartan blanket into a cocoon of warmth. Halfway through her tea, she heard a soft knock at her door. 

“Come in!” she called as quietly as possible, unsure of how many Lallybroch inhabitants were still awake at this hour. 

The door opened to reveal Jamie, soaking wet, presumably from the cold rain that currently pounded against the roof overhead. His eyes briefly searched the room for her, his body going still once he caught sight of her. The wetness of his hair made the red go dark; his eyes were brighter than usual. After a moment, Claire cleared her throat. 

“You can come in. I’m decent.”

Jamie blinked, looked at her as if judging whether she was playing a trick or not, then eased himself all the way in. 

“Sorry to bother ye, Sassenach. I ken it’s late.”

Droplets of rain water pattered to the floor, prompting Claire to stand and reach for a towel. She was thankful for the clean set of pajamas Jenny had loaned her. While the legs were too short, the top fit well enough for warmth and coverage. Jamie didn’t move as she approached, but she saw a slight shiver run through him. 

“I see you’re ignoring nurse’s orders again,” she said lightly, throwing the towel over his head to dry his hair. 

Jamie made a Scottish noise, bending a bit at the knee to assist her efforts. 

“I had a wee project I was overseeing today. Only just finished.”

He blinked owlishly as his head emerged from the towel. Claire draped it around his shoulders, careful not to put pressure on his back. 

“I hope this ‘project’ is worth infected wounds and pneumonia,” she quipped. 

Jamie laughed, blue eyes bright with humor. 

“That’s actually why I came to see ye.”

Claire paused, looking up at him. She felt his heart beat under her hand, the cold rain water dampening his shirt, and his natural blazing warmth that seemed to keep any chill at bay. He was solid and immediate, his ruddy skin glowing in the firelight. Despite the healing wounds on his back, Jamie looked like the picture of perfect health. 

“Are you not feeling well?” she asked, turning toward her chair. “Here, sit down..”

“Thank ye, Sassenach, but I’m fine,” he replied, one corner of his mouth curving upward. “It’s just that I’ve a wee surprise for ye.”

Claire blinked. 

“What sort of surprise?” she asked. 

“It wouldna be a surprise if I told ye before ye saw it.”

He was outright grinning now. Claire crossed her arms and smirked. 

“If it has something to do with you getting sick or infected, I’m not sure I want to be a part of this surprise.”

“Scairt, are ye?”

“Hardly.”

“Hmm we’ll see. Meet me at the barn after breakfast tomorrow?”

Claire eyed him for a moment, then smiled and nodded. Jamie’s shoulder’s relaxed slightly; clearly he was pleased. They stood looking at each other for a few moments before Jamie cleared his throat and looked away. 

“Well, I’ll leave ye to your sleep-”

“Wait,” Claire interrupted, catching his wrist as he was turning away. Jamie turned back, glancing at her hand on his before meeting her eyes. Claire smiled softly. 

“Let me take a look at those bandages. They might need to be replaced.”

“Really, it’s alright-”

“Sit,” she said firmly, pushing the chair away from the hearth and replacing it with the footstool before rummaging through the medicine box Jenny had gifted her. Jamie hesitated a moment but accepted defeat. He exhaled and slowly lowered himself down onto the indicated stool. 

“Rate your pain from one to ten,” Claire said, beginning their usual exam routine while helping him shrug out of his jacket. 

“Five.”

Claire gave him a look. 

“Aye, seven then,” Jamie admitted. “It’s starting to itch something fierce as well.”

“That’s good. It means you’re healing.”

Claire set the supplies on her vacated chair before helping him remove his t-shirt. Jamie grimaced, but made no sound as the soaked fabric pulled at his bandages. Claire handed him a fresh towel before putting his clothes over the back of the chair to dry. 

“Alright, let’s see the damage.”

Most of the taped edges had started to peel off from getting wet. One deep wound had started to bleed again. 

“I’ll have to clean this one,” she said regretfully. “The bandage came off completely.”

Jamie nodded, settling himself. They sat in companionable silence while she worked, the crackle and light of the fire creating a hypnotizing ambience. Jamie swayed a bit, tiredness betraying him. Claire finished with the cleaning and moved on to replacing all of the dressings.

Claire ran her finger down the edge of one scabbed over runnel, sealing the bandage covering it. Goose flesh sprang up on Jamie’s arms at the touch; the red gold hairs of his body standing up. His breathing had changed and he was unusually still. Claire swallowed. Suddenly, the room was feeling too small. Heat flooded her body with the knowledge that she was very much alone with him in her bedroom. She grasped at anything to distract herself. 

“I have some exercises you can start doing once these wounds heal more. It will help strengthen the muscles again.”

“Thank ye,” he responded, turning his head slightly to smile at her over his shoulder. 

Claire gently squeezed the shoulder in question, letting him know she was finished. She felt his eyes on her as she knelt in front of him, gathering spare bits of medicinals that she’d tossed in front of the hearth. The firelight sparked off of the gold ring on her left hand, catching her attention for the first time since she’d come to Lallybroch. A sudden wave of unexpected guilt washed through her and her breath caught in her chest. 

“Sassenach?” she heard Jamie ask.

Her throat was too thick to answer without giving herself away; she tried to will the tears back down. She saw Jamie lean further over, trying to see her face. 

_How does he always know?_ she wondered. 

“Claire, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice deep and filled with… something. Something she was too afraid to name. She sniffed, wiping away a tear that had made its way down her cheek. 

“It’s nothing. I was just… just thinking about my husband.”

“Ah lass,” he said softly. “Is… is he not alive?”

Four years. Four years of being completely alone again; when the Last War ripped the only two people Claire had left in the world away from her. She’d cried for them of course but had never truly grieved. And now, in a strange land amongst strangers, Claire’s enduring walls dissolved. 

“No,” she said, tears falling freely now. “No, he’s not alive.”

Jamie knelt beside her, wrapping her in his arms as she sobbed uncontrollably. A large, warm hand went up and down her back as he whispered soothing words in Gaelic. The hand moved to her hair, smoothing it out of her face as she began to regain control of herself. Claire leaned into the touch. Sniffing, she opened her eyes and met his; blue and fathomless and so, so close. He glanced at her mouth and back up again, his hand tightening imperceptibly in her hair. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking away, heart beating heavily in her chest. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Dinna fash, lass,” Jamie replied softly, giving her a sad smile as he wiped a stray tear away. He put a finger under her chin to make her look at him again. 

“Ye need not be scairt of me,” he said seriously. “Nor of anyone else here. So long as I’m with ye.”

Claire merely nodded, unsure whether to return to him or pull away. Jamie sighed. 

“Ye need sleep, Sassenach,” he said gently, rising from the floor before giving her a hand to help her up. 

“You do too,” she replied, giving him a shy smile as she walked with him to her door. He smiled back, hand moving as if to touch her again, but he stopped himself. 

_Don’t stop,_ she thought. 

“Goodnight,” she said instead, searching his eyes. 

_Stay. Please_. 

“Goodnight Claire,” he said softly. “I’m right down the hall if ye need anything.”

_I want you to stay_.

“Thank you, Jamie. For.. for everything.”

_Don’t go._

“I’ll see ye in the morning. Sleep well, Sassenach.”

Jamie left, moving quietly down the dim hallway to his own room. Claire waited for the click of his door shutting, but the sound never came. She sighed, berating herself for dissolving into an emotional mess, and shut her own door. Exhaustion won out over tidying up the room. She crawled into bed, buried herself in the tartan blanket, and gave into sleep and uneasy dreams.


	11. Part X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to lenny9987 for being an awesome beta!

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Jamie and Ian were out with the tenants completing the never ending winter prep list. Young Jamie had woken Jenny up a few hours earlier, which meant that the latter was already halfway through today’s do list by the time Claire came downstairs to eat. Mrs. Crook, the housekeeper and main cook, came and cleared away the remaining breakfast dishes, firmly insisting that Claire not lift a finger to help as she was a guest. Not wanting to cause waves, Claire bundled up and prepared to go outside. 

She emerged from the warmth of the Lallybroch manor house, breath stolen by the wind and freezing rain coming down outside. On mainland Europe, rain would have been met with shelter lock downs and chemical tests due to the toxin contamination in the food and water supplies. Not for the first time, she was grateful for a full belly and more than adequate shelter to return to each night. 

She made her way toward the barn to meet Jamie, shrugging to keep the knit scarf Jenny had given her as high as possible. Shivering with cold and a slight case of nerves, she trudged through the mud as fast as she could without slipping. The barn’s large sliding door was half way open and she could see the horses champing on their breakfasts or pacing in their stalls. With the dark clouds and rain outside, it only took a few blinks for Claire’s eyes to adjust to the dimness inside. 

There was something about the scents of the hay, manure, and animals that stopped Claire. She stood, eyes closed, breathing in slowly and listening to the shuffling of hoofed feet and the patter of rain on the roof. Maybe it reminded her of her world travels with Uncle Lamb. Maybe it was the thought of caring for other living things; each inhabitant of this estate coexisting for survival. Maybe it was feeling close to the earth; dirt and plants and life remaining despite the explosive destruction of civilization. 

“Morning Sassenach,” a quiet voice said beside her. 

The corners of her mouth turned up, but she didn’t open her eyes yet. She could feel him, his large presence standing so close that his natural heat radiated into her own flesh. Her heart thumped, blood surging strong and sure through her veins as the moment of peace passed over her. Jamie didn’t move or say anything; he just was along with her and time and the moment. Sighing contentedly, Claire opened her eyes and looked up at him. 

“Good morning.”

“Did ye sleep well?” he asked, looking her over carefully. 

“Yes, eventually. You?”

“Aye, eventually.”

They smiled at each other for a moment before Jamie coughed and turned slightly toward the exit. 

“Are ye ready to see yer surprise?”

Claire eyed him dubiously and he laughed. 

Dinna fash. Come, it’s this way.“

He held out his hand and she took it, feeling nervous. In truth, Claire tossed and turned after Jamie left her room last night. Deep sleep was interrupted by flashes of dreams and memories; her mother singing; Claire and Frank on their wedding day; the last letter she’d ever received from him; Claire running, unable to find whatever it was she was looking for; Jamie, down the hallway sleeping. 

She twined her fingers with his as they headed back outside, walking fast to keep up with his long stride. He wore his tartan coat today, the curls of his auburn hair escaping the grey beanie on his head. 

"Are you keeping your bandages dry?” she asked, eying the crimson fabric that was darkening at the shoulders from the rain. She saw his cheek curl and thought he must be smiling. 

“Aye. There’s a waterproof liner inside my coat. Besides,” he looked down at her, moving her hand and tucking it into the curve of his elbow, “I dinna want to get my arse skelped for going against doctor’s orders now do I?”

Claire gave him a look and nudged him gently with her shoulder. While he was up and about every day, she noticed the stiffness in the way he still carried himself. 

“I’m not a doctor, but I’m glad you know who’s in charge.”

Jamie made a Scottish noise of amusement and led her to a small outbuilding. It was no more than a large shed, but she could tell that the two windows on either side of the door had recently been washed. The door was open, the smell of lemon wafting out into the cold air. 

“In there,” he said, releasing her so she could go inside first. 

The room had been freshly scrubbed down. Claire briefly took in the many shelves and storage boxes along the walls before her eyes caught the object on the table. Her fingers were touching it before she even had a thought, the smooth worn wood of the old medicine chest like velvet against her fingers. She looked up at Jamie, questioning, and saw his look of nervous anticipation. 

“Open it,” he encouraged. 

Claire pulled the latch open and lifted the lid. 

“Jamie!” she said, a delighted grin spreading over her face. 

She touched the contents of the chest, sterile medicaments, herbs in old fashioned glass bottles, and simple surgical instruments, most of them hospital grade. 

“Here, there’s more,” Jamie said, encouraged by her enthusiasm. He opened the front, revealing tiny drawers filled with pre packaged sutures and needles. 

“The hospital in Broch Morda was in disuse,” he explained, watching her as she started making a mental inventory of the new supplies. “The local tenants divided the remaining medicinals. I’d have grabbed the more advanced instruments but I didna think we’d have anyone who would ken how to use them properly, even if we could fix their coding.”

”This was in the Medical Director’s office,” he went on, nodding at the chest. “I couldna bear to leave a piece of history behind so I took it. Now, I’m especially glad I did.”

Claire met his eyes, a happy flush to her cheeks and eyes clouding over slightly with moisture. 

"Do ye like it?” he asked, searching her face. 

“Yes, it’s wonderful!” she replied, with feeling.

“It suits ye, Sassenach,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up. “I hope this space will be sufficient for your doctoring.”

She blinked, then looked around the room. 

“You… you mean this is for me to use?” 

“Ye’ll need privacy to do some of the things that need done, aye? I thought this would be a nice spot for it. Close to the house but out of the way. It’ll be warm. I asked Ross to make sure it was well insulated. There’s a solar panel up top to give ye light whenever ye need it.”

Claire stared at him. Jamie’s ruddy brows drew together. 

“Will it not work Claire? Perhaps another space would-”

“No!” she exclaimed, placing a protective hand on the surface that would become the examination table. “No Jamie, it’s perfect. Truly.”

Jamie’s shoulders relaxed at this. 

“It…” Claire paused, looking up at him. “I don’t know how to thank you. You.. everyone.. has been so kind.”

Jamie nodded, moving closer as she processed what she was going to say. She felt exposed and vulnerable… and yet, perfectly safe with him. Jamie Fraser _knew_ her on a level no one else had ever had and she knew he would give her all the time she needed. The thought sped up her heart, her pulse racing strong and sure through her body as he leaned closer. He put a hand over hers and squeezed lightly, causing her to look up at him from under her eye lashes. 

Blue, slanted eyes gazed back at her, fathomless and open as she’d ever seen them. She could feel his own pulse in her hand, racing along with hers as he chose whatever words he was about to say. He stood tall in front of her and took a shaky breath. Claire met his eyes and, for the first time in a long while, was ready and willing to be a part of whatever it was he was about to offer. 

“Claire..” he started.

“Milord!” 

Claire jumped, pulling her hand out from under Jamie’s as a young boy flew into the room. He had bright blue eyes and wild, curly hair. He was also drenched from the rain and slipping on the freshly washed floor in his haste. 

“Fergus, _calmez-vous_ lad,” Jamie admonished as he grabbed the young man by the shoulders to steady him.

“Kincaid and I have just returned from Leoch,” Fergus reported in a heavy French accent. 

Claire saw that he was breathing fast, muscles taut like a bow string. Jamie noticed too and started to tense himself. 

“What’s amiss then?” he asked. 

“It’s your uncle, Milord. He’s coming.”


	12. Part XI

Lallybroch was thrown into a flurry of activity after Fergus’ announcement. Jamie had given her an apologetic glance before hustling out of her new surgery and informing his family and tenants that Dougal MacKenzie was due to arrive within a few hours. 

Claire went back inside, trying to stay out of the way. Uncle he may be, but it was clear that Dougal MacKenzie’s presence was not the most anticipated of events. Orders for preparations were being given but Claire got the impression that most of them weren’t about cleanliness and hospitality. She made her way to the kitchen, hoping to be of some use.

May I help with anything Mrs. Crook?” she asked, grabbing Jenny’s discarded apron from the counter.

“Oh aye, thank ye mum. If ye could chop up those potatoes there that’d be a great help,” the older woman said, dicing her way through three carrots at once.

The two worked in companionable silence, Claire dutifully chopping anything Mrs. Crook put in her path, until there was a stew slow cooking in the large pot by the hearth and bread baking in the ovens. Mrs. Crook wiped her forehead with a handkerchief she pulled from her pocket. 

“Thank ye, lass. Ye’ve a fine hand wi’ a knife.” 

Claire laughed.

“Thank you. It’s the least I could do to help after the kindness everyone has shown me.” 

“Oh nay lass. No’ kindness. _Gratitude_. Ye’ve done a fine thing, comin’ wi’ mistress Jenny to help Himself.” 

“Himself?” Claire asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh!” she replied. “I’m sorry, o’ course ye wouldna ken. I was meaning Jamie. He’s laird o’ the estate.”

“Oh, I see,” she responded. 

The cook smiled, stirring the stew in a businesslike manner. 

“Mrs. Crook?”

“Aye?”

“I was just wondering… what’s all the fuss about Dougal MacKenzie?” 

Mrs. Crook put the lid back on the pot and wiped her hands on her apron. She looked at Claire thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded to herself. 

“Weel he’s the laird’s uncle, ye ken.”

“I’d gathered that,” Claire said dryly, smiling and Mrs. Crook chuckled. 

“Aye weel, it’s a bit complicated. Dougal was brother to Ellen MacKenzie. Jamie and Jenny’s mother,” she explained further, seeing Claire’s questioning look. “There’s another brother, Colum, who is laird of Leoch. Neither one o’ them took too kindly to Ellen marryin’ Brian Fraser.”

“Well, that sounds a bit old fashioned doesn’t it?” Claire questioned, accepting a cup of tea as the older woman sat down. 

“Aye, ye’d think,” Mrs. Crook replied with a smile. “Yet, we Scots have long memories, ye ken. On and on back there’s been disputes amongst the clans over various things. Clan wars and alliances turned to clan disputes and business deals. Colum and Dougal wanted to see Ellen married to a wealthy Grant land owner. They were hoping to merge their two large businesses.”

“I take it Ellen had a thing or two to say about that.” 

“Quite right she did,” Mrs. Crook replied with a laugh. “A fierce thing to behold, was Ellen. Well, just look at James, he’s the spittin’ image o’ his mam, save those Fraser eyes.” 

He looked like his mother. Claire felt a small pang; she’d always been told that she looked like her own mother. She sipped her tea again, adding each small bit of information to her growing cache of knowledge about Jamie Fraser.

“So what happened?” 

“Brian and Ellen had been meeting in secret for quite some time. Her brothers caught wind o’ what was happening and forbade her to see him again. So, Ellen packed a bag, slipped out o’ her window, and the pair o’ them were hand fast that verra night.” 

“How did her brothers react?”

“They tried comin’ here to force her to come home. It was then that Ellen told them she was pregnant and that they could try all they wanted but she was no’ leaving.” Mrs. Crook chuckled. “The lass was so furious she cut Dougal wi’ a paring knife when he went for Brian.”

“A woman who knows what she wants,” Claire said, smiling at the thought. 

“Oh aye, verra much so. Her brothers went home angry and never contacted them again, to my knowledge.” 

“Brian Fraser must have been a brave man.” 

“Weel, ye ken, Frasers dinna think o'er much wi’ their heads when it comes to courtships and marriage.” 

Mrs. Crook laughed as Claire’s eyebrow went up and she leaned forward and patted her hand. 

“They think wi’ their hearts, aye?”

*** 

By the time Claire, Mrs. Crook, and the other tenants of the estate had made the house, supply stashing, and food preparations it was nearly dark. The wind howled, cutting through Claire’s pants and jacket like a knife through butter. She shuffled inside her surgery, marveling at the now unaccustomed feeling of turning on a light switch. The room glowed gold from the solar powered light, just bright enough to work but not too harsh on her eyes. It was perfect.

“Claire?” 

“In here!” she called, placing the last of her medical pack supplies into their new drawers in her surgery. 

“Och, there ye are,” Jenny said, coming in and looking around. “All settled, then?” 

“Yes, thank you. Though hopefully I won’t have to use it very often.” 

Jenny smiled, rubbing at her swelling belly absentmindedly. 

“I just wanted to tell ye that yer new skirts and knit bits are on yer bed. It’s lookin’ to be verra cold soon, if the trees are telling true.” 

“Thank you, Jenny. It’s more than generous.” 

“Not at all,” Jenny said briskly. “Supper will be soon and Dougal arriving no’ long after that I expect. Come in soon, aye?” 

“I will, thank you. I just need to tidy up a few more things.” 

Jenny nodded, closing the door behind her. Claire exhaled, closing the drawers. Now that she was properly settled, she’d have to find a time to speak with Jenny about the pregnancy. Claire had attended a few births in medical school but had no first hand experience in overseeing the entire process. Her mind thus occupied, Claire jumped when the door slammed open and hastily grabbed at the bits of packaging that were blown about by the wind. 

“Did you need something else?” she asked, straightening up and tossing the trash into the waste bin.

“Oh, I’ve needs, lass. Whether ye can fill them or no remains to be seen,” a deep, surly voice said behind her. 

Claire spun around. He was almost as tall as Jamie. His head was bald but his beard more than made up for the sparseness up top. The stranger openly appraised her, looking her up and down. He glanced behind him, shut the door, and took a step closer. 

“Yer a fine lass,” he commented, taking another step. “English if I’m no’ mistaken? What would bring ye out here, I wonder?” 

Claire forcefully controlled her face despite the alarm bells going off inside. She lifted her chin. 

“Perhaps we can both go inside for supper and we can all regale each other with tales of our recent adventures.” 

He chuckled at that and took another step. His gaze was unwavering and, despite herself, Claire backed up a pace. 

“Perhaps ye can tell me yer story now. After all, a Sassenach in these parts is a verra curious thing, aye?” 

Claire’s breath hitched at the way “Sassenach” sounded coming from this man; not the endearing nickname Jamie had given her but something akin to filth. He came forward again and Claire backed up against the exam table. Her heart was hammering as she fought down the urge to run for it.

“I’m not sure what your implying-”

“I am implying that a beautiful English lassie doesna just happen upon a Scottish estate in these times wi'out reason for bein’ there. So..” 

He was almost flush against her now, not quite touching her. Claire stood as straight as she could, glaring defiantly up at him, digging her nails into the underside of the table behind her.

“Who sent ye?” he asked lowly.

“No one.” 

“Dinna test me lass!” he barked making her jump. At that, the door burst open again.

“Dougal MacKenzie, stand down. Now.” 

The man in front of her turned, and Claire exhaled the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. The other man who was in the study when Claire had first arrived at Lallybroch to tend to Jamie stood in the open doorway. Claire thought she’d heard Jamie refer to the man as Murtagh. He looked like he’d been sleeping in the woods since she’d last seen him. His hand lay casually on a large knife at his belt as he gazed at Dougal. 

“Oh dinna fash, man,” Dougal said casually. “I was only introducing myself to Lallybroch’s new healer.” 

He turned and smiled charmingly at Claire, though it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Ye’ve kept her from her work long enough. Leave. Yer men are unloading your party’s horses.” 

Dougal sniffed out a laugh, but stepped away from Claire. 

“I hope to continue this conversation soon, mistress,” he said, leaving the surgery with an air of a king leaving a throne room. 

Claire shivered and, she was sure, not only because of the cold air that was coming inside. She licked her lips and began rummaging about, pretending to put things away while she got a hold of herself. Not knowing whether to hit something or cry, she did neither. 

_What is the matter with you_? she admonished. _You’ve faced far, far worse than Dougal MacKenzie in the Last War. Get a grip, Beauchamp_. 

During the War yes. At Lallybroch, no. Up until now, Claire had felt safe here. Protected. Tonight was just a reminder of what putting down her guards could do.

“Mistress?” Murtagh asked, pulling her from her thoughts. “Can I escort ye inside?” 

“Oh um.. yes. Please. I’m done here,” she added unnecessarily, buttoning her coat to go outside. 

Claire could hear a group of people in the barn unpacking their loads. Not wanting to see Dougal again before she absolutely had to, she hurried to the main house and into the warm entry way. The smell of food hung in the air, thick and savory, but Claire had no appetite. Murtagh stood by her, gazing out the door like a terrier waiting for a mailman.

“Sassenach, there ye are!” 

Claire flinched at the greeting, cursing herself the moment she turned and saw Jamie coming toward her. His smile fell when he saw her face and she quickly looked away, hiding her blush behind the veil of her hair under the guise of untying her combat boots. She felt more than saw Jamie crouch down beside her.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” he asked lowly. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, glancing quickly at him, then away again. “Perfectly fine.” 

She could hear a small group of people coming toward the house. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jamie look at Murtagh, then back at her.

“Claire-”

“I need to go upstairs and get ready for supper. I’ll… I’ll just be a minute.” 

Leaving her muddy boots on the rug to dry, she maneuvered around Jamie and up the stairs to her room. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, breathing slowly in and out. After a few minutes, calm and collected, she approached the bed and picked out a clean outfit Jenny had left for her. Dougal MacKenzie might have surprised her this time but it wouldn’t happen again. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted the blue tartan skirt she’d been gifted. 

“Alright. Let’s go.”


	13. Part XII

Thank you to everyone who has sent asks and messages about this story. I wish I could promise regular updates but my life is just too improv for that LOL. Love you all!

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The large dining room table was filled to capacity thanks to the unexpected visitors. Claire entered the room and caught Jenny’s gesture to sit down between herself and Jamie, who was at the head of the table. Dougal unfortunately sat directly across from her on Jamie’s right. Claire met his eye as she sat down, not giving him an inch. She felt Jamie’s knee brush hers in acknowledgement as he watched his uncle. 

“So, Jamie lad,” Douglas said, eying Claire in an appreciative sort of way. “I heard tell that my nephew had been overcome by bloody Sassenachs and came as soon I could to lend aid. We met yon French lad on the road and found out ye’d been rescued already.”

“Aye,” Jamie responded, shoulders shrugging slightly. 

Claire belatedly wondered if his bandages were bothering him. She hadn’t had the chance to change them today in the chaos of preparation.

“I wasna up to helpin’ o’ermuch but they did brawly and got me home. Why did ye keep comin’, if ye kent things were well here?” Jamie asked, taking a bite of roll and chewing. Dougal looked amused.

“Weel, I was halfway here at any rate. Didna want to pass up a chance at seein’ my favorite nephew. Imagine my surprise, though, when I found out there’s an English lassie stayin’ at Lallybroch. A healer, to boot.”

Jamie’s passive mask faltered, but only for a moment, then he inclined his head toward Claire. 

“Dougal, this is Claire Beauchamp. Claire, this is Dougal MacKenzie, my uncle.”

“Pleasure,” Claire replied sardonically, taking a drink of the whisky in front of her.

The warmth of the alcohol slid smoothly down her throat, sending calming tendrils of heat throughout her body. She caught Jamie’s slight smirk out of the corner of her eye. Claire also noticed that Jenny, while seemingly engaged in listening to the boisterous telling of a tale from the end of the table, was very well aware of the conversation happening near her.

“Dougal happened upon my surgery when he arrived here. We were in the middle of a very interesting conversation, were we not?” she said.

“Oh aye?” Jamie asked. “What was the subject matter?”

Jamie turned toward Dougal at this. Claire felt Jamie’s thigh brush hers and she relaxed. Murtagh must have relayed what had happened. She nudged him back and took another sip of whisky, looking at Dougal over the rim of her glass. Dougal looked at her for a moment, an inscrutable look on his face. 

“I was just curious how a lass such as she happened to find herself in Scotland. Especially considering the Sassenach problem ye’ve encountered the past year,” he said, eying Jamie now. “I wondered if she might be a spy.”

Above the table, Jamie stayed relaxed. Below, Claire felt the muscles of his leg stiffen with tension. 

“Claire came here at the request of my sister, to aid me. She’s a verra talented healer and offered to stay at Lallybroch until Ian and Jenny’s bairn arrives. She is my guest until she chooses to part wi’ us,” Jamie added, implication subtle, but clear.

Claire took a bite of mutton, unsure if her flushed cheeks were from drinking too much too fast or from Jamie’s words. She pressed the length of her thigh against his, but this time didn’t pull back. She watched Jamie’s throat move as he swallowed. 

“I see,” Dougal replied lowly. “Well, then..”

He lifted his glass in toast then sipped as he gazed at her. Claire looked down at her plate again, appetite completely gone. So, he thought she was a spy. Clearly Jamie did not, which was a comfort. She could also feel something else in the undercurrent of their conversation. Privately, Claire hoped Dougal and his entourage would make a quick and quiet exit. Jenny nudged her elbow and gave her a brief but encouraging smile before turning back to her other conversation. 

_Am I really that bloody easy to read?_ she thought, taking another drink. 

Apparently so, for thirty minutes (and three glasses of whisky) later Jamie leaned toward her. His arm brushed hers. She could smell the scents of woodsmoke and whisky coming from him, feel his warmth through his shirt. 

“Sorry to ask but could ye come wi’ me? My bandages are chafing..” 

He shrugged, like his shirt was too tight. Claire didn’t think Jamie the sort of man who would admit to being in pain in front of these men even if his arm was falling off. She had a reason to know. Suspicious, yet grateful to leave, Claire nodded and rose with him. Bidding everyone good night, the pair moved to the hallway. 

“Here, Sassenach,” Jamie chuckled, pulling her closer as she stumbled up the stairs a bit.

“I’m not drunk,” Claire said without preamble. 

“Oh aye?” he asked, not letting go. 

“Aye,” she quipped, smiling up at him. “Are your bandages really chafing or are you just being a gentleman and escorting me to my room?”

Even as the words slipped out, the heat in her cheeks, and in her belly, deepened. Jamie’s grip tightened briefly, but he let her go as he opened her bedroom door for her. They stepped inside. Jamie, after a moment’s hesitation, shut the door behind him. Mrs. Crook had lit the fire at some point; the light from the flames lit his face.

“What’s the matter?” Claire asked, seeing his troubled look. He exhaled.

“I want to apologize for my uncle’s behavior and assure ye that I’ll have a word wi’ him.”

“Oh,” she said, looking away and fidgeting with her hands. “Yes, well..”

“Claire, I promised ye that ye dinna need to be scairt. I dinna make false promises. I…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

Touched, Claire reached for him, squeezing his arm. He met her eyes then, the look in them enough to melt any inhibitions that may have been left. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but his mouth was on hers, his arms coming around her back to pull her tight to him. One hand gripped his waist, careful of his scars, and the other tangled itself in his thick, ruddy hair. Opening her mouth to him, her tongue skimmed his lower lip before meeting his. She could taste the whisky and mutton from dinner; and something else that was just him. 

Jamie groaned into her mouth, turning to press her against the rough stone wall. The bricks were cold on her back while Jamie was warm as a furnace on her front, flushing his hips with hers as his thumbs found the skin just under the hem of her shirt. He bit her lip lightly and Claire gasped, grinding into him, wanting more. Wanting _him_. 

Suddenly, Jamie pulled his lips from hers. He was gasping, looking at her in a way she’d never seen before. 

“Jamie..”

He made a small noise, shaking his head before pressing his forehead against hers. He was shaking with restraint as he brought up a hand to cup her cheek. 

“Claire, I’m sorry. I dinna ken..”

He shook his head again, tucking her under his chin and burying his nose in her hair. Claire slowly brought her hands up to hold him, more than a little bewildered, her breathing evening out as her senses came back to her. 

“Christ,” he said, pulling back again. “I’m sorry. I swear I didna mean for this to happen. I..”

“Shush,” she whispered, stilling him. She cupped his cheek and traced his lower lip with her thumb. “Don’t be sorry. Please.”

She said the last word shakily, inwardly cringing at this display of vulnerability. Jamie took it for the token it was, kissing her forehead softly and gently pulling her in. 

“I’ve wanted to do that from the first moment I saw ye,” he whispered, after a little.

Claire smiled softly, pulling back and meeting his eyes.  


“What stopped you?” she asked.

“Jamie! Ye’re needed downstairs,” a gruff voice hollered, earning a groan from Jamie. 

He exhaled, looking her over. Claire thought her hair must be ridiculously mussed, her lips kissed red if the tingle she felt was accurate. 

“Ye’re so beautiful, _mo nighean donn_ ,” Jamie said, divining her thoughts as he brushed a curl behind her ear. 

“James!” the gruff voice yelled again.

“Aye, hold off, I’m comin’” Jamie hollered back, earning a soft giggle from Claire. 

“Himself is needed.”

“Aye,” he replied, smiling self deprecatingly.  

“Talk tomorrow?” she asked tentatively. 

Jamie nodded then bent to kiss her once more, tenderly.

“Tomorrow.”


	14. Part XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the next part is here! **Big** shout out to lenny9987 for being a rockstar beta and helping me problem solve some goofy issues I have had with this chapter LOL. She deserves all the high fives.

Claire awoke shortly after dawn to the sounds of wind and rain whipping at the shutters of her bedroom window. She lay in a stupor, too sleepy to get up but too rested to think about closing her eyes again. Surrounded by the warmth of the tartan quilt, she contemplated yesterday’s events. The surgery. Dougal. Dinner. Jamie. Warmth flared through her at the thought of him, stirring her to get up and get ready. ‘Tomorrow’ was today. 

_No use putting it off._

She hissed in a breath as her toes hit the cold stone floor; the fire had died out long since. Peering at the array of clothing she now possessed, she decided to go with convenience instead of warmth. With guests in the house, she wasn’t sure what would be needed of her. 

She pulled one of the new thick knitted sweaters over her head and reached for her cargo pants. She looked them over, fondling the fabric. Someone had put a patch over the hole in the knee and reinforced the pockets. Shaking her head in disbelief, she pulled them on, surprised to find the inside had been lined with a thick cotton material for warmth. 

_Jenny_ , she thought, smiling to herself. 

_What would she think about all this?_ Claire mused, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on some thick socks. Claire hadn’t even thought about how Jenny felt regarding Dougal’s accusations the previous night. The niggle of doubt and annoyance surprised her. 

_So, you care what she thinks of you_ , the voice in the back of her mind said. _What they_ all _think of you._

“Jesus H. Christ,” she huffed, pushing aside those thoughts for later contemplation. There was enough to be going on with already. 

Tying her hair up in a knot, Claire made her way downstairs toward the smell of breakfast. She hesitated a moment when she heard male voices but forged on through the dining room door anyway. Jenny smiled at her, beckoning her to her regular seat with a tilt of her head as she placed bannocks on the table. A few new men she’d never met were already seated but were too busy discussing the journey back to Leoch to pay much notice to her. Dougal wasn’t present. 

_Where was…_

“Good morning Claire,” said a voice behind her. 

Claire jumped, then exhaled strongly through her nose, giving Jamie a narrow look as he smirked. 

“Sorry, Sassenach,” he said lowly, trying his best not to laugh, damn him. “Here.”

Moving around her, he pulled out her chair and looked at her expectantly. Claire, smiling despite herself, sat down as Jamie pushed her chair in place and took his own seat. Their hands brushed as they both reached for the same bannock. This resulted in brief eye contact and nervous, awkward apologies that earned them an eyebrow raise from Jenny. Jamie cleared his throat, his ears turning pink. Claire exhaled, taking a bite and trying to get a hold of her own nervous energy. 

“Sleep well?” she asked, glancing at him. 

He looked back at her, smiling. 

“Aye. Yourself?”

She smiled back. 

“Yes, thank you.”

Jenny took this opportunity to sit down where Dougal had sat the previous night. She eyed the pair speculatively, a smile forming at the corner of her mouth. Claire took another bite, wondering just how the hell she’d ended up here, behaving like a smitten teenager. Jamie, studiously avoiding his sister’s eye, joined the conversation happening at the end of the table. The party would be staying a few more days, it seemed, to assist the Lallybroch residents in the final winter preparations and allow their horses sufficient time to rest. 

Claire listened with half an ear, most of her mind preoccupied with her own thoughts. She was very much aware of every move Jamie made, every shift in weight and expression on his face. They needed to talk. Clear the air. Figure out… whatever this was between them that culminated in James Fraser kissing her against her bedroom wall the evening before… and her kissing him back. She could still feel his touch on her waist, the warm solidness of him as he held her. His eyes, penetrating hers to her very core. For Claire, who was alone for so long, the strength of this connection was frightening. 

_What do I want?_ she wondered, absently rolling water droplets around the bottom of her empty glass. _Before yesterday, you would have left with hardly a thought, Beauchamp. Should this change anything?_

“Ye wilna find answers in water,” she heard Mrs. Crook tease as she took the empty plates. “Tea leaves is the way of it.”

Claire smiled self deprecatingly at her, faltering a little as she met Jamie’s eye. He contemplated her, a slight crease forming between his brows. He’d noticed her distraction, then. Glancing around the table, he tilted his head toward the doorway and rose from his seat. Claire nodded minutely, waiting for him to leave before making her own, hopefully inconspicuous, exit. Jenny was watching her like a hawk, a knowing look on her face. Claire cleared her throat. 

“I think I’ll just hop over to the surgery and inventory the supplies. I didn’t get a chance to finish yesterday.”

“Dinna fash yerself too much over it,” Jenny replied, sitting back in her chair. “Ye have time.”

Frozen by Jenny’s stoic blue stare, Claire gazed back. Despite the other chatter in the room, it felt like they were the only two people there. Jenny took a deep breath, expression softening as she gestured to the door with the exact same mannerism as her brother had. 

“Dinna keep him waiting too long, aye?”

Claire let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. After a moment, she nodded, leaving the table with a strong sense that Jenny Murray did indeed know everything that went on at Lallybroch.


	15. Part XIV

The hallway of the house, usually dim, was lit by the diffused light coming from the open front door. The wind had died down but the sound of rain pelting the stones of the house was a constant, clear drumming. Jamie moved into the light, his tall frame outlined by the natural downpour behind him. He took a deep breath as she approached and held out his tartan jacket for her to put on; she could feel the nervousness coming off of him.

Jamie paused, seemed to consider something, then motioned for her to follow him outside. Claire ducked her head against the rain, following his muddy footprints as he led the way to where they were going. Her heart beat fast; she wouldn’t be surprised if Jamie could hear it. Thoughts and things to say swirled through her mind, tangling and fighting with each other before coming to an abrupt halt as she looked up to find Jamie holding the door of her surgery open for her. 

After a moment’s frozen hesitation, Claire stepped inside. Her sleeve brushed Jamie’s, the simple sound of fabric touching fabric enough to make her swallow. Jamie quietly bolted the door and turned to look at her; neither seemed to be able to find the words to start the conversation. Claire folded her arms across her front, looking around for some inspiration. She blinked as the light came on and looked over to see Jamie crouch down to turn on the small heater she hadn’t noticed yesterday. Warmth filled her chest that had nothing to do with the heater. 

Jamie looked up at her, smiling a little in response to whatever he read on her face. He shrugged. 

“Didna think the cold would do yer patients any good, aye?” 

Tension broken, Claire laughed and shook her head. 

“No, I wouldn’t think so. Thank you.” 

Jamie nodded, smile receding a bit as they continued to stare at each other. He broke eye contact and rose, looking self consciously around the room. Claire exhaled, noticing two chairs that were tucked away in the corner. 

“Do you… want to sit down?” 

He looked up, followed her gaze, then moved to grab the chairs. Claire, feeling a bit warm under the collar, removed the jacket and lay in on the exam bench to dry. Releasing the binding, she ran her fingers through her curls, pulling the damp locks away from her neck. Hearing Jamie pause, she glanced over to see him watching her. She didn’t look away this time. 

“Come here?” he asked softly, holding out his hand. 

Claire stepped forward, sliding her hand into his. He was warm, his calloused hands engulfing hers as he gently pulled her forward and into the chair facing his. Once settled, Claire held out her other hand. Jamie smiled and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees, his blue eyes alight as he took it. They both took a deep breath at the same time, chuckling quietly afterward as they exhaled. 

“Are you as scairt as I am?” he asked, bending his head toward their clasped hands to hide his face. 

“You’re scared?” she asked, surprised. 

“Aye. That’s why I’m holding yer hands. To keep my own from shaking,” he replied, smiling sheepishly. 

The room was warming as the heater ran. The rain continued to pound on the roof. Claire squeezed his hands. 

“Yes, I’m…” she exhaled, looking down. “This does make it easier, doesn’t it? Touching.” 

Jamie made a Scottish noise in agreement. Claire belatedly realized that they’d both leaned closer to one another; her hair moved with each exhale Jamie took. She didn’t pull away. 

“Claire, about last-” 

“May I ask-?” 

They both laughed and Jamie nodded for her to continue. 

_Here goes_. 

“I was just wondering.. why did you ask me to stay?” 

Jamie stilled, looking at her. Claire felt a flush creep up her neck and into her cheeks. He squeezed her hands. 

“What I told ye was true, about Jenny and the tenants. That ye’d be of great help and that ye’d have a safe place to bide the winter.” 

For the first time since they’d met, James Fraser looked nervous. Claire nodded encouragingly. 

“What I didna tell ye… what I didna say was that I wanted ye to stay. I hoped that ye’d choose to call this yer home, by the end.” 

_Jesus H. Christ_. 

“Why?” she asked again, so quietly she thought he couldn’t have heard her. 

He met her eyes, then, and she knew that he did. He always had, from the very beginning. 

“I wanted ye, Claire. From the first moment I saw ye.” 

Her breath hitched, blood pounding in her ears. 

“And now I…” He stopped, swallowing. “Well now, each day, I want ye more than I did the day before,” he went on, voice low and earnest, as of a dam inside of him had burst. 

“I tried to dismiss it, play it off. Ye were there to help me because it was yer calling to do so and ye’d leave when it was finished. I accepted it but…” 

He shook his head. Claire felt tears stinging her eyes as she looked at him, his emotions starkly bared before her. 

“I could tell ye were lost, ye see. I didna want to push but the thought of you leaving… I couldna bear it, Claire. If I’m being honest, I still can’t,” he added shyly. 

“Jamie,” she said, voice catching. 

“I dinna want ye to feel obligated,” he said seriously, squeezing her hands tighter. “My offer stands as is, for however long ye want it. I promise.” 

His promise. To see her safe through the winter. To let her go in the spring, despite how he felt. The very thought of parting with him… Claire inhaled a shaky breath, her tears finally spilling over and running down her cheeks. 

“Oh, lass,” Jamie said softly, scooting his chair forward and raising a hand to brush her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” 

Claire hiccuped a small laugh at that, shaking her head. She raised her empty hand to reunite with the one he’d placed on her cheek, turned it so she could kiss his palm. She heard his breath catch. Was this what it felt like to give someone your heart? she wondered. To hold the confession of a soul in her very hands, feeling its pulse race strong and sure where she held it? 

As hers did for him. 

Claire met his eyes, smiling. He let out a shaky breath, bringing his other hand to smooth stray curls away from her tear stained cheeks. The look in his eyes was enough to make her shudder. She grasped the nape of his neck, gently bringing his forehead down to hers. 

“That was beautiful.”

“It is true. All of it.” 

“I’m not at all good with words.” 

Jamie chuckled at that, pulling back a little to look at her again. 

“Ye dinna have to be, my Sassenach.” 

Claire traced his bottom lip with her thumb, just as she’d done the night before. 

“I’d… like very much to kiss you,” she said. “May I do that?” 

“Aye,” he said hoarsely, brushing her cheek lightly with his knuckle. “I’d like that verra much.” 

Claire moved her chair closer and leaned in slowly, brushing her lips softly against his. His hand tightened in her hair, keeping her close as she took his bottom lip between hers. He placed another hand on her waist, silently beckoning her forward onto his lap. Claire obliged him and he tightened his arms around her as she pulled her chest flush against his. His hands explored her back, moving to her waist as his lips traced her jaw. 

“God, Claire,” he muttered, grazing her neck lightly. 

She arched back to allow him more access, the strong arm behind her back holding her steady. The warmth of the room compared little to the fire within her, sparks of light and heat and some emotion she dared not name chasing themselves through her veins. She bent down, taking his mouth again, tasting and feeling. 

He stood up, holding her to him as he lifted her onto the exam table, stepped between her legs, and kissed her again. The need for him grew with each nip at her lip and touch of his tongue and pressure of his hands on her body. Claire pulled him closer, not needing words to tell him what she wanted. 

Jamie grunted as they heard a distant call of his name from outside. Claire pulled away but held him tight to her, breathless. His hands ran smoothly up and down her thighs, stopping at an invisible line that made Claire shiver. Jamie swallowed, his breathing unsteady through his kiss swollen lips. 

“Himself is needed. Again,” she whispered, smiling and touching his flushed cheek. 

Jamie gazed at her, eyes dark and intent as he pulled himself out of the haze they’d found themselves in. 

“James!” 

They both flinched. That one was closer. 

“One o’ these days, Sassenach,” he said lowly, running a finger down her neck, following the line of her collarbone, “I’m going to steal ye away where no one can find us.” 

She smiled, kissing him again in answer. 

“ _Mo ghraidh_ ,” he said, kissing her forehead. 

“What does that mean?” 

Jamie stood back, helping her off of the table, looking a little nervous again. He kissed her hands, one and then the other. 

“I promise I’ll tell ye one day.” 

“Milord!” 

“James Fraser, where are ye dammit!” 

Jamie looked at the door like he’d love nothing better than to incinerate whomever was yelling at him with his own eyes. Claire laughed, touching his arm. He turned back, smiling helplessly, grabbing for the discarded jacket and wrapping it around her. 

“There’s much to do today,” he said regretfully, settling his hands on her shoulders after her jacket was on. 

“That’s alright. We have time,” she replied, a little shyly. 

His answering grin came slow, reaching his eyes as they alighted on her. Nodding, he took her hand in his. 

“That we do, Sassenach. All the time in the world.”


End file.
